


Future Tense

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Case Fic, Drama, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:57:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair moves on with his life and career, but a violent case brings him back to Cascade to assist in catching a killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Tense

**Author's Note:**

> This diverts from canon in that sometime after Night Shift, Blair decides that his sentinel thesis isn't feasible and decides to write on a different subject instead. Therefore Sen-Too and pretty much the fourth season doesn't happen.

**Future Tense by Alyjude**

 

"Jim, we have to talk."  
  
Afraid to put down the Sunday paper, Jim rattled it instead and said, "I _hate_ it when you say that."  
  
"About my dissertation. It's finished."  
  
The Sunday paper became a sudden non-entity. Jim sat up, whole sections of the Cascade Times sliding from his lap. "Finished?"  
  
Nodding, Blair sat on the edge of the coffee table and for the first time, Jim noticed the item in his friend's hand.  
  
"That it?" he asked with a nod in its general direction.  
  
"This is it. You need to read it before I burn it."  
  
Jim was reaching for the large, thick 'it' when Blair said, 'burn it' and he snapped his hand back as if _it_ had been burned. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Well, I could turn it in, but to tell the truth, I've still not been able to find a way to hide your identity, so you do the math. It's got to go. I've already petitioned for another subject and I'll know in a few days if my doctorate is still viable. Sid's going to bat for me but Edwards isn't exactly a champion of mine."  
  
Jim was stunned. He sat back and rubbed at the back of his neck. With a sigh, he offered, "So we wait until you _can_ hide my identity. No biggie."  
  
Blair leaned forward, tossed the manuscript on the cushion beside Jim, then smiled. "No biggie? How long am I supposed to remain in limbo, Jim? What, I'm gonna be a TA until time to retire? Rainier might have something to say about that idea. And the fact is, I'm facing the big 3-0, man. I gotta get on with my life, you know?"  
  
Jim felt his heart climb into an elevator and freefall down to his toes. But all he said was, "Oh, well. Yeah. Of course. So. You burn it."  
  
" _After_ you read it. Then I thought we'd go somewhere together," he waved a hand as if fanning flames, "then set it on fire. Like some great tribal funeral, you know? Maybe go up into the mountains, forest primeval, no human for miles around and do the deed. What do you say?"  
  
With some trepidation, Jim picked up the dissertation. "Let me read it, then -- then we'll talk. Maybe I'll come up with something."  
  
"Sure, Jim. Sure. And tell me we really don't have to have the scientist versus friend discussion before you read?"  
  
Hiding his smile, Jim said, "Anything worse in here," he hefted the book, "then your introductory chapter?"  
  
"Hell, yeah. You think I'd leave out the millions you have stashed in an offshore account? Or how, instead of for good, you used your powers to call horse races, rack up the big bucks in poker _and_ your wayward habit of watching, from sixty miles away, babes undress in their bedrooms?"  
  
Jim snapped his fingers. "That's it! You hide my identity by calling the Sentinel in your dissertation Blair Sandburg."  
  
With a huff, Blair stood. "You just read it. I'm going to make myself scarce." With that, he grabbed his jacket and keys. "I'm outta here, Jim. Be back in --"  
  
"Try to avoid the obvious slurs on my reading capabilities, Sandburg."  
  
"Oh, hey, that reminds me -- the dictionary is on the dining room table." Laughing, Blair left Jim alone.  
  
Once the door closed, Jim stared at the book in his hands. This was going to take some fortification. Taking the diss with him, he went into the kitchen, grabbed _two_ beers and then sat at the table. He twisted off the tops of both and after taking a swig of the one he deemed to be the coldest, he started reading.

*****

  
  
The words swam before his eyes and he realized that maybe he was -- crying. _Take that, William Ellison. Your son, the big macho cop, is crying._ But nobody needed to know that the tears were just as much for the incredible work in front of him as for the fact that Jim was acknowledging that his life with Sandburg was almost over.  
  
Jim slowly closed it, then looked at the array of beer bottles in front of him. Six of them. He should be drunk. But he wasn't. He'd never been so sober.  
  
And Blair wanted to burn it.

*****

  
  
"So, you liked it."  
  
"I liked it. And I reiterate my position; we wait. Give you more time."  
  
"Can't be done, Jim. There's no way without invalidating the material. They won't believe it and the end result is no doctorate. Worse, no chance for one. So this weekend, I'm going into the forest and doing it. With or without you, man."  
  
"With."

*****

  
  
"This is it. The spot."  
  
"Agreed. We make camp, eat, then --"  
  
"Do it."  
  
"Right, Chief. Then we do it."  
  
Three hours later, both full on chili and cornbread, the darkness enveloping them in its arms and the sounds of the forest surrounding them, Jim piled on more wood. Blair took out the dissertation, reams of notes, tapes and diskettes. He'd already wiped his computer clean.  
  
As the flames danced high, reaching for the stars, Blair handed over his notebooks. While he began to tear at his diss, Jim started crumpling up wads of yellow legal paper. Staring at each other from across the pyre, they nodded silently and in one uniform move, began to toss various pages onto the hungry fire.  
  
As sheets floated down to be consumed, Blair proclaimed loudly, "Here's to Brackett!"  
  
"Here's to tests and drinking sour milk that you, for some unknown reason, poured into a cup and set on the sink," Jim added.  
  
"Here's to checking your humanity at the door."  
  
"And to not letting your anger take you out of the game."  
  
Blair tore at more pages and, tossing them in, added, "Here's to stubborn Sentinels who won't listen."  
  
Following with his own stack, Jim said, "Here's to observers who won't stay put."  
  
"Here's to Kincaid and a normal day in the life of a Major Crime detective."  
  
Both men began to rip and tear ferociously, their grins wide.  
  
"Here's to a guy who never knew how to slow down and talks a blue streak," Jim yelled out.  
  
"Here's to dials, piggybacking, zones and trash trucks!" Blair yelled back.  
  
"Here's to journals, sage and tongue!"  
  
"Here's to redheaded thieves, mob wives and deputy DAs!" Blair challenged.  
  
"Don't forget daughters of South American gun-runners and forensic fire-wielding girlfriends," Jim countered.  
  
"Three cars totaled in three years!"  
  
"Three?" Jim stopped tossing. "Hey, there were only two!"  
  
"What, so we're no longer counting the Jeep? We're forgetting driving it into a quarry after --"  
  
"Here's to _how_ many lost pairs of glasses and house keys?"  
  
Both men resumed the funeral with widening grins and fevered dedication.  
  
"Here's to Tupperware and house rules!"  
  
"Here's to meditation, burning incense and flannel," Jim countered back.  
  
Both men were out of paper. Breathing hard, they divvied up the tapes and cassettes. Jim went first, tossing one cassette into the blaze. "Here's to ESP, freaks, and fathers who don't know how to love."  
  
Blair tossed in one his disks. "And here's to abiding tolerance, fathers who can learn and brothers who can start over."  
  
"That was unfair, Chief."  
  
"But true. No self-pity allowed."  
  
"Oh, yeah? Then explain the abiding tolerance remark."  
  
"That wasn't self pity, that was simple fact." Blair took another disk and tossed it. "Here's to chopper rides, boat rides, ferry rides and the Feds!"  
  
Eyes narrowing, Jim tossed in a small tape, saying, "Here's to oil rigs, foolish anthropologists who don't know when to take a dive, and here's to the Cascade Jags!"  
  
"Here's to exchange officers from down under, Cassie Welles drinking us both under the table and leggy lady lawyers!"  
  
Two more tapes were tossed as Jim, nodding, said, "Right. And here's to aging actors who think they're detectives, sleeping beauties, and precocious kids."  
  
"Oh, man, I'd almost forgotten Alec."  
  
"I was talking about you, Chief."  
  
With a wicked gleam, Blair upended his disks and shook them out to fall into the fire. "And here's to nicknames and the ridiculous notion that I might just have a first name!"  
  
Emptying his box, Jim whined, "Aw, Chief, you have a _girl's_ name!"  
  
"Tell it to the Prime Minister of Great Britain, Jim," Blair yelled from across the fire.  
  
"Good point. And we're done, which means time to get plastered."  
  
"Right, you are, old bean!"  
  
Jim rolled his eyes, walked over to the supplies and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He sat down on a log and Blair quickly joined him. As they watched the tapes and disks burn, Jim took off the top of the bottle, swallowed a healthy swig, then handed it to Blair who followed suit.  
  
"It's been a great ride, Chief."  
  
"Liar. And it's not over yet. I figure once I get permission," he took another gulp before handing back the scotch, "it'll be at least three months. I have notes up the gum-stump, I just have to put it all together."  
  
Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after his swallow. "And just what _is_ your new subject?"  
  
The alcohol was burning its way down Blair's throat and two large gulps were already working on him as he said, "Death, Jim. Death."  
  
Bottle just to his lips, Jim paused. "Death?"  
  
Blair took the scotch away from his friend, took another swig, then nodded. "Yep. Death." Noting the puzzled and somewhat frightened look on Jim's face, he added, "Death, and the men and women who face it daily."  
  
"Jesus Christ."

*****

  
  
"How'd it go?"  
  
Blair sank down on the bench and exhaled noisily. "I -- don't know. All right, I think."  
  
"How long before --"  
  
"Any time now."  
  
"So it's over."  
  
"Yep."  
  
Jim stared at his shoes. "Three years, Chief."  
  
Blair, eyes fixed on the door opposite, nodded. "Yep. Three years. All boiled down to something that weighs about five pounds."  
  
Jim looked at his partner in surprise. "Five pounds? That much?"  
  
"You held it. At _least_ five pounds."  
  
"Who knew words could weigh so much."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"If it matters, I think it's -- incredible."  
  
Blair took his eyes from the door long enough to smile at his partner. "Thanks, Jim. And, it matters. More than anything the people in that room could say or think."  
  
Oddly satisfied, Jim went back to looking at his shoes. It was over. Three years of literal blood, sweat and tears and the infamous dissertation was completed and today, defended.  
  
The door opened and Sid stepped out. He was smiling.

*****

  
  
"So, you're now Doctor Sandburg."  
  
Blair stood in the hall, just in front of the doors that led outside. His expression was still one of disbelief.  
  
"Yeah, I am. I'm Doctor --" he turned and faced Jim, "I'm fucking Doctor Blair Sandburg."  
  
"I see you set your sights high. Fucking a doctor no less. Your mother would be so proud."  
  
Blair punched Jim in the arm. "You asshole. Shit, I need to call Naomi!"  
  
He started through the doors but Jim grabbed him. "Wait, you haven't --"  
  
"No way, Jim. Not until, well, not until I was sure, which is, like, now."  
  
"You gonna let me tell Simon and the rest of the gang?"  
  
They'd moved outside and stood in the sunshine. Blair's eyes took in the grounds, his gaze skipping over the fountain as he shook his head. "I'd rather we wait, Jim."  
  
"For?"  
  
"I don't know -- I mean, there's no teaching position available here, which is okay by me, and I need to, you know, make some decisions. Sid wants me keep my ties to the university, he thinks Carlson is leaving at end of term and that would leave an opening, but --"  
  
"That would be -- lying to Simon, Blair."  
  
"I don't mean that I'd continue to ride with you. I know that's not possible now. But we don't... Look," he ran his fingers through his hair, "give me a week, okay? Then I'll tell him myself."  
  
"All right, Blair. A week. But are you considered to still be on staff here? Will you be teaching? What?"  
  
"I've been -- I haven't been teaching in weeks, Jim. I -- it was part of the deal. They gave me a deadline and I needed the time, so no teaching."  
  
"Oh. I see. Well then." Then Jim slapped his partner -- soon to be ex-partner -- on the back and said, "Why don't I take you to dinner and we celebrate your success?"  
  
"That'd be great, Jim."

*****

  
  
Four days into his week, Blair had made no decisions. And he figured he had a damn good reason for being decision-less. He was waiting for Jim to say something. Anything. An offer, words, anything that would tell Blair that it mattered to Jim what he finally decided. But so far -- nothing.  
  
The excruciating thing about his week was how badly _he_ wanted to say something. Like, _'Jim, I don't want to stop being your partner. Got any ideas?'_ But Blair was the interloper. The deal was completed, over, and there was no reason, no sign, that _anyone_ wanted him to continue as Jim's partner, let alone Jim. So he waited.  
  
On Thursday, wandering the apartment, bored out of his skull, and with only two days of his week left, Blair realized that his tenure as Jim's roommate was coming to an end. The real end. He began to gather his belongings and pack them away.  
  
As he was double-checking the kitchen cabinets, the phone rang. He hurried over, foolishly hoping that it was Jim. "Hell-o?"  
  
 _"Blair? It's Eli. I understand congratulations are in order?"_  
  
"Eli! What on earth?"  
  
 _"Am I or am I not talking to Doctor Sandburg?"_  
  
Blair grinned like a loon. "Well, yeah, you are, as it happens."  
  
 _"It's about damn time, Doctor Sandburg. And how would you like to be number two on my next expedition? It's funded, I have the go and we leave in six weeks. South America. We'll be the first ever to interact with the Umaua tribe, Blair."_  
  
Blair closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. This was incredible. "God, I can't believe you've actually managed to --"  
  
 _"I know, Blair, I know. This is the miracle we've **both** dreamed of happening. Imagine, the Umaua, Blair. Say yes this time." _  
  
So many thoughts sped down the expressways of his mind and none of them led to a life of meaning for Blair. He could stay in Cascade, try to stay close to Jim, maybe, eventually, take a teaching position and start politicking for tenure, meeting Jim once or twice a week, then once, then maybe twice a month, then --  
  
"Yes, Eli. I'd like to be on your team."  
  
Blair hadn't moved since he'd hung up with Eli and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs. How the hell was he going to tell Jim?  
  
For two hours he'd sat and pondered this earth-shattering question and had come up with exactly bupkis. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The words would be easy.  
  
'Jim, I'm going on an expedition.' How much easier could anything be? It was everything that would go before. _That's_ what he was having difficultly in conjuring up. And of course, he was now obligated to talk to Simon. To tell him. Not that it would be bad. Simon, not to take anything from the man, was above all else, practical. Jim was fine, senses wise; he no longer needed a tagalong, so Simon would shrug in his characteristic manner and wish Blair well. Been there, done that. Par for the Sandburg course of living.  
  
The sun was setting, using one of its more spectacular techniques and if Blair had been paying attention, he'd undoubtedly have given it a '10'. But because he hadn't noticed the glorious dip, he was completely surprised by Jim's key turning in the lock.  
  
"How was your day, honey?" Jim quipped as he tossed his keys.  
  
"Same old, same old, Jim. Soap operas, laundry, made the beds, got the kids off to school, walked the dog, gossiped with our neighbors -- did you know that Bertha Russell got a facelift?"  
  
"No, really?" Jim asked as he got himself a beer. Lounging against the island, he shook his head. "Amazing. Did you happen to find my green shirt? The one with the alligators on it?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Found it in the rag drawer."  
  
Jim swallowed, then gave Blair a pretty good imitation of a stricken husband. "Rag drawer? That was my lucky bowling shirt! How could you?"  
  
"You know I hated that old thing. And you don't bowl anymore. Bad knees." Blair got up, walked past Jim, got himself a beer, then, with back resting against the fridge, said, "I've made my decision, Jim."  
  
Jim paused, beer halfway to his mouth. A sense of déjà vu swept over him. "Oh, really?" He managed to sound -- interested, but not worried.  
  
"Yeah. Eli Stoddard called today. He's got another expedition put together --"  
  
"In Borneo, by any chance?"  
  
Blair grinned and ducked his head. "Ah, no. South America. There's a tribe that's never -- that no one has ever -- but, well... Eli received permission. It's been a dream of his for over twenty years."  
  
"I see. And maybe when you come back, something at Rainier may have opened?"  
  
"You never know."  
  
"No, you don't." Jim set his bottle down, his enjoyment of the sharp, cool drink suddenly dampened. "So when do you leave?"  
  
"Well, the start date is six weeks, but I'm his number two, so I really need to meet up with him in -- well, I promised -- next week."  
  
"I see. Wow, that was quick."  
  
"Yeah, but --"  
  
"But it's what you do, who you are."  
  
Blair watched Jim toss the bottle, then watched helplessly as Jim headed for his room. "Yeah," was all he could say.  
  
"So when do you tell Simon?" Jim called down from above.  
  
"I'll go in with you tomorrow."  
  
"Sounds like a plan." Then Jim looked out over the railing. "What looks different, Chief?"  
  
"Oh, um... I kind of started to, you know... move my stuff -- into my room, so I could -- pack."  
  
"I see. Sure, makes sense."  
  
"That's how I saw it."

*****

  
  
The next day, walking into the station, no one familiar with the team of Ellison and Sandburg would have noticed anything out of the ordinary. They rode upstairs discussing the Jags, stepped out and entered the bullpen betting on the next game, but as Jim went to his desk, Blair, large package in his hand, headed for Simon's office.  
  
He knocked and as usual, walked in before Simon had the chance to answer. The older man looked up and grimaced.  
  
"It's too early for you, Sandburg. I've only had one cup of coffee and _no_ Danish. And just once, would you allow me the honor of saying 'come in' when you knock?"  
  
Blair blinked, grinned, then walked out. One minute later he knocked again and -- waited. With a roll of his eyes, Simon gave out with a disgusted, "Come in."  
  
Blair entered and set a prune Danish on Simon's desk. "You need this more than Joel, sir."  
  
"Smartass." But he reached for the offering and took a huge, satisfied bite. Still chewing, he indicated that Sandburg should sit. Taking his usual spot, Blair waited, allowing Simon another bite before jumping in with both feet.  
  
"Um, Simon -- I completed my dissertation. Actually, I've even turned it in, defended and well, I'm 'Doctor Sandburg' now."  
  
He waited. He didn't have long. A spray of prune Danish hit his face.  
  
Simon jumped up, reached back and grabbed several paper towels from the roll that sat next to his coffee maker. He mopped up, then handed a couple of clean ones to Sandburg. As Blair wiped his face, Simon said calmly, "Care to repeat that, Sandburg?"  
  
Blair nodded, got up, took several steps _away_ from Simon's desk, then said, "I'm Doctor Sandburg now. I brought you a copy -- thought you'd like to read it. And no, it's not about Jim."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Blair gazed down at his chair, then back up to Simon. "Is it safe, sir?"  
  
"Oh, for God's sake, sit down."  
  
Blair did. "I pretty much realized that any paper on Jim Ellison was impractical, given his job, so three months ago, I switched topics. Here," he handed over the package.  
  
Simon took it, but the expression on his face was one of dread. "Tell me this isn't anything even remotely connected with your 'Thin Blue Line' thing."  
  
Smiling, Blair said, "It isn't. But it _is_ \-- in a way -- about police work. That's your copy, so read at your leisure."  
  
Simon sighed with relief and set the heavy package down. He missed the flicker of disappointment that crossed Blair's face. "So what happens now, Sandburg?"  
  
"Um, well, as you're no doubt well aware, Jim really doesn't need anyone anymore. He's in full control and between you and Megan, well, you can handle anything that comes up, you know? So basically, I'm back to being a full-time anthropologist. I'm heading out next week, to South America."  
  
"What about Rainier? Teaching?" Simon had about twenty more questions, most starting with _'what about Jim?'_ , but he settled on Rainier.  
  
"There aren't any openings right now and to be honest, teaching, while challenging, was never my ultimate goal, you know? I mean, I'm not even thirty yet --"  
  
"Right, of course."  
  
"Maybe someday I'll settle into university life, but that's not really -- well not now, anyway."  
  
"Understood." He didn't understand at all. "So no more Ellison and Sandburg, eh?"  
  
"No, sir." Blair fingered the chain around his neck, then slowly removed it and handed it to Simon. "Won't really need this anymore. Which means no more having to explain to your boss why you have a civilian on an expired ninety day pass, right?"  
  
Simon ignored the pass as he grinned and nodded. "It has been getting tougher, Sandburg."  
  
"Figured as much." Blair stood, heart in his throat. He'd had to say goodbye to more father figures than he'd care to count, but this one --  
  
He held out his hand. "I just want to say -- thanks, Simon. I know that the last three years were more than you ever bargained for when you let Jim talk you into this whole thing --"  
  
"Let _who_ talk me into this?"  
  
Blair's face went pink. "Yes, well, anyway. I really appreciate how you handled it all. I was a bit of a pest," he waved a hand, "and don't say, _'a bit?'_ , okay?"  
  
Simon grinned.  
  
"I leave next week and I'll be in South America for about six months, maybe more, so this is really goodbye."  
  
Simon took the offered hand and they shook. "Well -- good luck then."  
  
Blair swallowed the lump in his throat. "Thank you, sir." Blair started out, then turned. "Um --"  
  
"Yes, Sandburg?"  
  
Blair stared at Simon's desk, then -- "Can we keep this between you, Jim and me? Megan might make a fuss, you know?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Blair opened the door, stepped out and shut it quietly after him. He walked over to Jim's desk.  
  
"Everything go well?"  
  
"Naturally. I suspect Simon's a bit relieved, you know? Anyway, I'm going to head over to the Civic Center. I have some credentials to update. See you hom-- back at the loft tonight."  
  
"Right. I'll bring home pizza. Hawaiian?"  
  
"Great."  
  
Jim watched his best friend leave, but remained in his seat until the elevator closed. He listened until Blair exited the building, then rose and took the few steps to Simon's office. He didn't knock.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Simon, expression stunned, said, "In -- sit."  
  
Jim took his seat and for a few moments, neither one could find any words, but finally, it was Simon who spoke.  
  
"So. It's over."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Three years."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"I suppose we have to let him go, right?"  
  
"It's what he is. Who he is."  
  
"But you two talked about it?"  
  
"In our way."  
  
"That's not hopeful, Jim. Not what I wanted to hear. Maybe he could go to the academy?"  
  
"You really think someone like Blair Sandburg, with his abilities and knowledge, should be a cop?"  
  
Simon gazed at the half-eaten Danish. "No, I guess not."  
  
They both continued to sit silently.

*****

  
  
The week, Blair's last week, sped by and it was the change in the loft that Jim found the most difficult to handle. His home had become _their_ home and represented both men -- equally. But now, with the belongings of half of the team of Jim and Blair gone, it looked so -- barren.  
  
Blair was scheduled to fly to Mexico City on Friday, his flight at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning, and on Thursday, the two men found themselves seated in the dining room. The day was over and there were only hours before Blair would leave.  
  
"You saved my life, Chief."  
  
"Hell, you saved mine more times than I can count."  
  
"Yeah, because you were with me, helping."  
  
"Well, I wasn't going to bring that part up."  
  
"Jerk," Jim said fondly.  
  
"Hey, it's not like we're never going to see each other again. We're friends, Jim. And you know how to use e-mail now."  
  
"True, true. So we can chat in one of those sleazy adult rooms?"  
  
"Oh, you know how to chat now, do you?"  
  
"Har-har."  
  
"You think Simon'll ever read my diss?"  
  
"Sure. When he gets really bored."  
  
"Or exhausted and needs something to put him to sleep."  
  
"That, too."  
  
Blair checked his watch. "Well, I'm up early so I think I'll hit the sack." He stood and stared down at his best friend. "I guess we've said it all this last week, eh?"  
  
"Yeah, pretty much."  
  
"One thing I never said though, was that you, Jim Ellison, are not only my best friend, but the greatest man I've ever met. I wanted you to know that before I left."  
  
Jim struggled to his feet. "I feel the same way about you, Chief."  
  
They stared at each other, then, awkwardly, the two men hugged. As Jim held on longer than necessary, he said into soft hair, "You take care out in those jungles, you hear?"  
  
With eyes closed, Blair mumbled, "You, too, Jim. You, too. And please, don't forget everything we've learned, okay? Use smart sense."  
  
Jim pulled away a bit and looked down at the face he knew better than his own. "Did you just make that up?"  
  
Sheepishly, Blair grinned. "Hey, it worked."  
  
They both stepped back as Jim nodded. "Yeah, yeah it did. 'Smart sense'. I like it."  
  
"Good. Use it."  
  
The moment stretched with neither man moving. But finally, inevitably, Blair said, "Won't see you in the morning, so I guess this is goodbye."  
  
Jim nodded mutely, unable to say the words.  
  
Blair turned around and walked into his room for the last time.

*****

  
  
Jim heard the stealthy movements of his friend and partner but knew that another goodbye would be impossible for him. He remained in bed, feigning sleep. It was still dark out but he'd heard the airport shuttle pull up in front of their building ten minutes earlier.  
  
Blair had given the Volvo to Daryl and then refused Jim's offer of a lift. Too early on a Saturday, one of the rare weekends for his Sentinel. Besides, it would be easier for both of them to -- again -- avoid too many farewells.  
  
Jim listened as Blair moved about below, now putting on his jacket, picking up the two bags with shoulder straps, and then... nothing. Jim concentrated, and realized that Blair must be just -- standing by the door. He ached to rise, to go down, to remove the luggage, to beg Blair to stay --  
  
The door opened and Blair shuffled out. As it closed behind him, the Sentinel heard the beloved voice whisper, "Goodbye, Jim."  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut. "Goodbye, Blair."

*****

  
  
"What airline again?"  
  
"TWA."  
  
"No problem. We've plenty of time."  
  
Blair nodded and, as the shuttle driver put his luggage into the shelves, Blair turned and glanced up for one more look at the building that had been his home for three years.  
  
He'd left more places than most people ever saw in a lifetime and yet, never had his heart been as heavy. Blair Sandburg wanted nothing more than to go back to number 307, climb the stairs up to Jim's room and crawl into bed with the man. He climbed into the shuttle van instead.  
  
Blair never saw Jim step out onto the balcony.

*****

  
  
The drive to the airport was spent in silent goodbyes to old landmarks, familiar haunts... to his city. Blair knew that he could never come back. Would never see Jim again. Just too damn painful.  
  
He'd found his Sentinel three years ago and today, he had given him up. Let go.  
  
Blair moved through the airport in a daze. He checked his luggage, claimed his boarding pass and rode the escalator up to Gate 15. He found a seat next to a window, sat down and waited for his flight to be called.  
  
How many expeditions? This one would make -- sixteen? Twenty? Man, he could remember when he used to count them, buy a new journal for each one. He could remember the butterflies, the excitement, the way he'd bounce in the airport, bringing forth laughter and jokes by his fellow teammates.  
  
Today there were no butterflies. No bounce.  
  
"Jim," he whispered.  
  
God damn it, why _didn't_ Jim want him, at least as his continued partner? Why the hell not? Why not?  
  
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. TWA would like to announce that we will begin pre-boarding Flight 341 to Los Angeles and Mexico City in a few minutes. This includes our First Class passengers, VIP passengers, members of our Golden Flyer Club, parents traveling with small children and any passengers who need additional time to board." Thanks to Eli, Blair held a first-class ticket. He rose, grabbed the one carry-on bag and moved, with a few others, to the gate. Five minutes later he was taking his seat.  
  
Pillows were offered, orange juice, sweet rolls and bagels as others traipsed through first class to get to their seats. Blair had a window seat so he turned his face away to stare at the airport. The door was finally closed, the captain came on and announced their pull away from the gate, the lights dimmed and slowly the plan began to roll back.  
  
And still -- Blair stared out at the airport. At the windows and the people plastered against them, waving at their departing husband or wife, girlfriend or boyfriend. Blair wanted to see Jim. He wanted to see the older man's face, his hands waving frantically as he tried to get Blair's attention. Sandburg wanted the plane to come to an abrupt stop, then move back to the gate.  
  
He wanted the door to open and Jim to slide in beside him.  
  
"Good morning. I'm Captain Edwards and we've just been given our clearance for take-off. Our flying time to Los Angeles is --"  
  
Blair tuned it out. He knew the flying time. He could imagine the weather. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes.

*****

  
  
From his balcony, Jim watched Blair's plane take off.  
  
"God damn it."  
  
He remained on the balcony until not even a Sentinel could see the tiny silver speck.

*****

  
  
Half way across the city, Simon Banks stood on his lawn in the cold morning. A plane flew overhead and he imagined it to be Blair's. He saluted, then bent and picked up the morning paper. He was grateful that Monday was two days away. He had time to prepare for a life without Sandburg.

*****

  
  
**Brazil - Deep in The Jungle and Off a Tributary of The Amazon**  
  
Four months in the jungles of Brazil, and the heat still didn't bother Blair. Although, with the rainy season only a month away, the air had become very oppressive and was clearly uncomfortable for the majority of Eli's team. But to Blair, even the humidity and clinging atmosphere hung on him like an old dear friend.  
  
Eli had put together a surprisingly eclectic mix of scientists and eager, bright-eyed students. In spite of the fact that he was Eli's second, Blair found himself fitting somewhere in the middle of age and experience. He was the youngest of the scientists and yet, next to Eli himself, the most seasoned, but the least published.  
  
It also felt very odd to be called _doctor_ by everyone, especially the students. And no one seemed put off by the fact that he was a new doctor at that, let alone one who hadn't been on an expedition in over three years. A fact that had been responsible for more than a few strange conversations with his teammates over the last weeks. A couple of those exchanges had been priceless.  
  
"So, Doctor Sandburg, where have you been studying?"  
  
"Cascade."  
  
Strange looks. "Cascade? As in Washington?"  
  
"Yep. I've been riding with a detective attached to Major Crime."  
  
"Detective?"  
  
"Mmm."  
  
" _Detective_?"  
  
"Yep. Riding around and observing."  
  
More strange looks. "Observing what?"  
  
"Closed societies. Life and death on a daily basis."  
  
Then muffled chuckles and giggles. "Oh, yeah. Life and death. And tough decisions like chocolate sprinkles on the donuts or those cute little colored ones."  
  
Blair always managed to keep his temper reined in when the inevitable flurry of 'pig' jokes started flying. But as soon as the laughter would subside, he'd then proceed to patiently explain what most cops _really_ did for a living. It never failed that, eventually, impatience and disrespect would give way to stunned surprise -- and finally grudging acceptance.  
  
In the months that Blair and his compadres had been studying the Umaua, he'd found very little of the enthusiasm that had marked his early years in anthropology. Not that the people of the tribe weren't incredible; they were. The Umaua seemed to have much in common with more than a few Peruvian tribes, and were an offshoot of several including, much to Blair's surprise, the Chopec. But their closest _relative_ appeared to be the Juma.  
  
The Umaua were fascinated by colors, dressed brightly -- something Eli had attributed to a Carib influence -- and were fiercely protective of their children and the senior members of the tribe. It had taken the team over two months to gain enough trust to be allowed to speak to, or get closer than ten feet from, any child.  
  
In the beginning, pictures had been forbidden but, in the case of the Umaua, it had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with complete anonymity. But gradually the team gained enough respect, and were allowed drawings and eventually photos. But so far, four months into the study, video cameras were still taboo.  
  
Blair worked hard, enjoyed the tribe and his fellow teammates, but he was only half there. He recognized that fact, but was pretty sure that his partial enthusiasm was still as great as, if not greater than, most of the others, and he refused to allow his feelings to interfere with the nuts and bolts of his work.  
  
Today, air particularly heavy with moisture, Blair found himself sitting in what was called a 'charun' circle, an honor he fully recognized. He was the only member of the team allowed this status, and the only non-tribal member to ever sit in charun, which was the Umaua's version of a trial. Even Eli had been impressed enough to allow such a break from normal procedures.  
  
The purpose of this particular charun was to discuss the fit punishment for a tribe member who was accused of stealing.  
  
Shifting his gaze from the Chief to the other members of the group, Blair was acutely aware of his teammates standing or sitting on the outskirts of the circle, pens scribbling, pencils sketching or shutters clicking. Across and in back of the circle, Blair could see Peter Kellogg, head bent over his drawing paper as he frantically tried to capture the moment. Next to him, Sheila Browning, brown eyes bright with excitement and mouth slightly agape, watched avidly. Eli was behind and to Blair's left; his tape recorder on, the small spools spinning.  
  
Chief Ortuno was speaking quietly on behalf of the accused while the other six listened. When he was finished, the Shaman, Petak, spoke condemning the accused. As Blair watched and listened, he was amazed at the process, which so closely resembled the American judicial system. In essence, Ortuno was the defense, Petak the prosecutor. And the judge? The other five, which meant that in the case of the Umaua, the jury was the judge, the judge the jury.  
  
There were differences, however, between the Umaua way of trial and the system in America. For instance, no family members were allowed to speak, nor was the victim or the accused. Since the tribe was small and everyone knew everyone else, it was deemed unnecessary to hear witnesses.  
  
Blair had a healthy grasp of the language, which was a weird combination of Portuguese, Omagua and Tupi, so was able to follow the discussions. It didn't escape his notice that on the ground, in the middle of the rain forest, while listening to tribal 'lawyers', Blair finally felt at home.  
  
With his own excitement dancing in his eyes, he leaned forward and found himself nodding as the others questioned either Ortuno or Petak, then squabbled amongst themselves.  
  
Blair was sitting cross-legged and fairly bouncing on his hindquarters as it became apparent that the 'jurors' were stuck on the penalty. Of guilt, there was no doubt. The Umaua didn't lie. Young Kateka, the thief, had freely admitted the theft of Bora's 'nyatak', or personal pouch.  
  
Among the Umaua, the nyatak was their version of a wallet. Except that it also contained their spiritual persona, and stealing a nyatak was serious indeed. As the jurors continued to argue, Ortuna lifted his head and stared across the circle at Blair. Then he lifted one arm regally, pointed at the anthropologist, said a few words, and before Blair could say 'nyatak', all eyes were fastened on him.  
  
Well, damn.  
  
Suddenly the whole conversation ground to a halt and it was clear that Ortuna expected the others to listen to anything Blair might say. Seeing Blair's confusion, Ortuna spoke again, explaining Sandburg's unique position as someone who, because of his background in law enforcement, had 'anayea' or authority where the decision of penalty was concerned. Ortuna felt the others should listen to the white man with anayea.  
  
Blair _did_ possess some insight into the crime, thanks to his observational skills. But while Eli had allowed him to sit in on the charun, well, actually participating? Such an involvement could backfire, and seriously. But his other self argued that, by agreeing to sit in on the charun, he'd already become involved. He cleared his throat and in halting and broken Anapia, he asked that the others consider Kateka's possible fear. Fear that his betrothed -- Ammua -- had, in fact, been stolen by Bora. And wasn't it much talked about that Bora practiced 'korakei' or magic?  
  
Noting that everyone was listening and some even nodding, Blair leaned forward and decided that asking questions and allowing the others to come to their own conclusions might mitigate his immersion in their ways. Or not. He took a deep breath and started in.  
  
Had Ammua been behaving differently since Kateka had stolen the nyatak? And if so, did that give credence to Bora being the original thief? And if that was possible, should not Kateka be free of any punishment since he was only taking back, via the nyatak, that which had been stolen from him?  
  
The members of the charun began to talk non-stop, gesturing wildly amongst themselves. Finally, Youkaki, the 'foreman', rose and it was clear the decision had been made. The circle was broken and all stood, then walked to where Kateka stood with Ammua and his family.  
  
Ortuna stepped up to him and immediately removed the circle of black beads that hung around the young accused's neck. The tribe, who'd been waiting as anxiously as Kateka, cheered wildly. Kateka would receive no punishment and the label of thief, in the form of the beads, had been removed. As for Bora, it was quickly discovered that he had disappeared into the jungle. It was assumed that he would never return. But if he did, he would face the charun.  
  
Blair smiled and moved into the background and next to Eli, who immediately said, "That was risky, Blair."  
  
"Yes, I know. But wasn't sitting in on the charun?"  
  
"Yes, but a risk worth taking. They are a strange people, but one deserving of our admiration."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"How did you know about the magic?"  
  
Blair turned and gave Eli a surprised smile. "Hey, we're observers, right?" At Eli's nod, Blair said, "So, I observed. Kateka didn't want to hurt Ammua by telling Ortuna of the magic, but it seemed kind of obvious."  
  
"Obvious to _you_ , maybe, but to no one else, my friend. Three years observing a detective came in mighty handy today for young Kateka over there."  
  
"Oh, well, yeah. I guess so."  
  
Eli dropped an arm over Blair's shoulder, shook his head helplessly and said, "Come on, let's eat and debrief with the rest of the group."

*****

  
  
**Cascade, Washington**  
  
This jackass was _not_ going to get away. Jim dropped his head low, stretched out his legs and pumped even harder. Slowly, the distance between him and the perp lessened and finally, Jim launched himself, aiming for the knees, and he and the jackass hit the ground.  
  
Miller Sawyer wasn't going to give up that easily. He twisted beneath Jim and managed to wiggle one arm free. Jim saw the blow coming, did some fast twisting of his own and managed to ward off the punch. He was up in a second, one hand tightly gripping the arm he'd captured. Before Sawyer could blink, Jim had flipped him over and was cuffing him, his out-of-breath voice informing the guy of his rights.  
  
"Nice dive, Ellison."  
  
Without looking up, Jim said grumpily, "Thanks, Rafe. For nothing."  
  
"Hey, I was right behind you, man," the younger detective whined.  
  
"Behind me is good, Detective."  
  
Jim hauled Sawyer to his feet and was grateful to see Joel Taggert swing alongside them in his Pontiac, two squad cars right behind him. Thankfully, Jim handed off his catch and as Sawyer was being put carefully into the back of the closest car, Joel thumped Jim on the back.  
  
"Good catch, partner."  
  
Jim took out his handkerchief and wiped his face, then stuffed it back into a pocket. "Joel, I'm too old for this shit."  
  
The remark was not said in the usual humorous or self-deprecating manner of one Jim Ellison, and Joel frowned. "Jim, you outran Sawyer, who's what, five years younger? And you outran Rafe. What's your complaint?"  
  
"That I'm too old for this shit?"  
  
"Yeah, right. Come on, you need a break. Reports can wait. I'm taking you to lunch, my friend."

*****

  
  
They were settled in a back booth of Dooby's Diner, their order having been taken, and two cold sodas sitting in front of them. Joel took a sip, watched Jim do the same, then feeling that the time would never be better, said, "Okay, what's up?"  
  
"Don't know what you mean, Joel," Jim said listlessly while playing with his straw.  
  
"You know exactly what I mean. Too old for this shit? You? Not hardly. Spit it out, Jim."  
  
Without lifting his eyes from the straw that was trapped between his fingers, Jim said quietly, "I'm thinking of retiring."  
  
Joel _just_ managed _not_ to spit out his drink. He swallowed rapidly, then sat back, stunned. Finally, after several minutes, he said thoughtfully, "You miss him that much, Jim?"  
  
The straw snapped but all Jim said was, "Miss who?"  
  
"You can try that shit on everyone else, Jim, but don't bother with me."  
  
Jim glanced up, brow creased. Joel never used any words that anyone could deem inappropriate. "You said 'shit'."  
  
"Jim," Joel said, warning in his voice.  
  
"I miss him. But that's not why I'm thinking of retiring." At a snort from Joel, Jim gave a half smile and added, "Well, not exactly why. The job just seems to have lost something --"  
  
"Yeah, coincidentally, since Blair Sandburg left Cascade. And you."  
  
"He didn't leave _me_ , Joel. He left Cascade for his job. You remember that, don't you? His job, which just happens to be in anthropology?"  
  
"You know what I'm wondering?" At Jim's cocked eyebrow, Joel said, "I'm wondering what would have happened if someone, say someone like you, had asked Blair to stay. Yeah, I'm wondering what would have happened then, you know?"  
  
"Didn't have the right," Jim mumbled.  
  
"Oh, really? Did you ever think that maybe he _expected_ someone, say someone like _you_ , to ask him? That maybe that's all he wanted?"  
  
"Look, Joel. It's been terrific bouncing between you and Conner in this partnership thing, but trust me -- Blair did not want to be a cop."  
  
"That might very well be true, but _I_ think he _did_ want to be your partner. Just that. Which by the way, allowed him to also do his job." At Jim's look, Joel added, "You know, his _job_? In anthropology?"  
  
"When did you get to be such a smartass?"  
  
"That would be since riding with you."  
  
"God, you're even starting to sound like him."

*****

  
  
Their plates had been picked up and the table cleared of all but their coffee mugs. Joel stirred some cream into his and as he moved the spoon around in endless circles, he decided to go for broke.  
  
"You love him, don't you?"  
  
"That's a given."  
  
"No, Jim. You _love_ him."  
  
Slowly Jim raised his head. Sharp blue eyes bore into gentle browns. The frown on Jim's face gradually faded. "Yes. I love him."  
  
"Any chance of reaching him?"  
  
"None. He's deep in the rainforest of Brazil. And I mean deep. Top secret. I suspect that the only person who knows where his expedition might be is the top sertanista, Sydney Possuelo and he won't tell. He is, according to Blair, very protective of what is called the _lost_ tribes of Brazil."  
  
"Okay," Joel said, leaning forward, "first off, what's a sertanista? And second, 'lost' tribes?"  
  
"Indian trackers. Sertanistas are Indian trackers. See, it's believed that the Amazon has the greatest population of isolated tribes. Tribes never seen by anyone. These sertanistas go in and try to find them, then protect them."  
  
"And the tribe Blair is studying?"  
  
"The Umaua and yes, definitely one of the 'lost' tribes. No scientists have been allowed to go in and stay with them, meet with them, nothing -- until now."  
  
"So a major deal for Blair. Important work."  
  
"You got it, Joel."  
  
"I see."  
  
Jim finished his reports and looked at the clock. After seven. With a tired sigh, he rose and without much enthusiasm, took his jacket off the coat tree and headed out.  
  
He stopped at Bernie's Deli, started to order a corned beef, then switched to -- tongue. He took two pickles, ordered a pint of potato salad and to complete his Blairorder, he took a cream soda out of the cooler. Jim fumbled in his wallet, took out two fives, received his change, then walked slowly out. As he stood next to the truck, he decided not to go home.  
  
Ten minutes later he was at the shore and seated on a bench overlooking the bay. Jim pulled the pop-top of his soda, stuck in the straw, opened his sandwich and took a big bite.  
  
For a moment, the taste almost overwhelmed him, full as it was with memories. He could hear Blair's voice squeaking at him after finding his mother upstairs on Jim's bed -- _with_ Jim. And the way the younger man's face lit up with pleasure at the taste of the tongue Naomi handed to him --  
  
Jim chewed -- and remembered. And mourned.

*****

  
  
Blair was lying on his side and staring out the opening of his tent. Rain was pouring down, having arrived almost three weeks earlier than normal. For the Umaua, it was a godsend, but for the scientists, it meant trouble.  
  
Eli's permission from the Brazilian government was granted based on six months -- period. That included the journey back to Brasilia. The early start to the rainy season meant that Eli and his merry band of scientists would have to leave earlier than planned. Much earlier. Like now.  
  
Blair had packed up most of his supplies, and they were scheduled to head downriver in two days. The Umaua were actually sad to see them go and a great feast was planned for the next day, but in the meantime, Blair watched the sheets of warm water fall, and sighed heavily.  
  
He could be up and working, transcribing notes and such, but he had no inclination to do anything. The ennui was unlike him and had increased in the last few days.  
  
A large shadow loomed before Blair, temporarily blocking out all light. Then it shifted, entered and Eli sat down on the chair beside Blair's cot. He pulled off his poncho, shook himself and reached for one of the towels that sat on Blair's trunk, wiped his face and arms, then his thick, almost white hair.  
  
"Wow."  
  
Blair shifted his gaze from the rain to his mentor. "Wow? Is this some new scientific mumbo jumbo I should know about?"  
  
Eli grinned, his hazel eyes all but disappearing. "Very new. You've been out of the loop too long, Blair. We now say 'wow', 'gee whiz', and 'keeewl'."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Good boy."  
  
"Wanna talk about the weather?"  
  
"No, but thanks. I'd rather talk about you."  
  
Blair gave a little shiver. "Ick."  
  
"Ah. You _have_ been keeping up. We say 'ick' now, too. _Very_ scientific."  
  
When Blair did nothing more than smile in return, a smile that never moved further than his lips, Eli said, "You're not happy here, Blair, and definitely not happy doing this." He waved his arm around, indicating the tent and camp. "The young man I knew would have been in seventh heaven and the only time I've seen anything close to that Blair Sandburg was a few days ago at the charun. Care to talk about it?"  
  
"The charun?"  
  
"Blair, don't play dumb with me, all right? I know you too well."  
  
Blair rolled over on his back and clasped his hands behind his head. As he stared up at the tent ceiling, he said softly, "Look, I made a simple mistake and I'm paying for it. I'll survive, but right now, well, my ego has taken a bruising, that's all."  
  
"Your ego? Care to elaborate?"  
  
"Honestly, Eli, it's nothing. A lesson once learned and forgotten, then relearned. I won't make the same mistake again."  
  
"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you? Make me drag it out of you, right?"  
  
Blair turned to look at his friend and teacher. "I'm sorry, Eli. I don't mean to be difficult, honest. Let me see if I can explain this --"  
  
Blair's eyes seemed to focus elsewhere for a moment, then he said, "You know, up until I was six years old, I believed that my mother's world revolved around me and nothing else.  
  
"I guess all kids that age feel the same. Parents exist for only one reason -- the child. Anyway, I learned at six that I was wrong."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"She left me to go on some retreat and was gone for -- what seemed to me -- an eternity. Six weeks. I stayed with one of her good friends, but I knew where I fit into her life. I don't know when most kids learn that lesson, but if my reaction was any indication, it's a pretty devastating moment.  
  
"As the years rolled by, the lesson was constantly reinforced. She'd leave, or the men she dated would leave, or she would leave them. When I was fifteen, well, I caught a little break.  
  
"I was getting some serious attention at school and man, I thought I was hot stuff. The world, once again, seemed to revolve around Blair Sandburg. And mom stayed home for an entire year."  
  
"Why do I hear a 'but' coming?"  
  
Blair grinned. "Because a but's coming?"  
  
"Go on, smarty pants."  
  
"Oooh, another highly-technical scientific term. I should write that one down."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. So where's the 'but'?"  
  
"I went to Rainier, was touted as this semi-genius, and started to really strut my stuff, made everyone's life a hell and was quickly and efficiently brought back to earth. And mom took off again."  
  
"Ah. So the world moved on, eh?"  
  
"Yep. Kept right on revolving but not around the sixteen-year-old wunderkind. Now mind you, all this was a good thing. I learned to take care of myself, couldn't depend on anyone else to do it, and consequently became very self-sufficient. The world may not have revolved around Blair Sandburg, but neither was it going to revolve on without him, you know?"  
  
"I'm getting the picture. Explains a great deal about the seventeen-year-old I first met."  
  
"Yeah, well."  
  
"So what happened this time? What bruised that ego of yours?"  
  
"I allowed myself to forget that the world didn't revolve around me. Forgot that it's business as usual with or without Blair Sandburg."  
  
"Blair, that's true for all of us."  
  
"Oh yeah? How important do you believe you are to say, this expedition? Honestly?"  
  
"Blair, that's not the same thing."  
  
"I disagree. There are specific needs here that must be met and only you can meet them. Hell, only you could have finally secured the permission required for us to even be here, Eli. There's a reason you're one of the foremost experts in our field."  
  
"So you're saying what, exactly?"  
  
Sandburg sat up and crossed his legs Indian style. "I'm saying that I thought -- they needed me, that I contributed enough that they'd want me to stay. At least -- I thought -- they'd ask me to stay -- because I was one of them." His expression took on a lost quality as he added, "I really thought I was one of them --"  
  
"And you wanted to be. And I assume we're talking about your work with the Cascade PD?"  
  
Blair nodded miserably.  
  
"You really enjoyed working with Ellison, didn't you?"  
  
"I did. I enjoyed trying to understand the criminal mind, to help Jim and the others, to help puzzle out a case, figure out how something was being done --"  
  
"In other words, using your talents as a damn fine anthropologist."  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"So? It's not your fault those cops are a bunch of closed society nits, is it?"  
  
Blair couldn't help the twitching of his lips. "Nits? Man, you are getting way too technical for me."  
  
"You know, if you don't behave, I may have to take off my socks and toss them at you and you've been in the jungle long enough --"  
  
Blair raised his hands in mock surrender. "You win. You win."  
  
"Look, Blair, all I'm saying is that if police work is what you want to do, then find a way to do it. Just because those dolts you worked with didn't know a good thing when they saw it, doesn't mean you don't belong in that field."  
  
Eli shifted on the small chair, then mused, "You know, several major police departments now use anthropologists, forensic anthropologists, and cultural anthropologists as civilian consultants. I know New York City does, as well as Philadelphia, Miami, Boston, Los Angeles and San Francisco. In fact, I was asked a few years ago to assist the Boston Police with one of their investigations. Have you considered doing a little surfing when we get home?"  
  
Blair studied the idea, turned it over in his mind... "You know, that isn't a bad idea, Eli."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's why they pay me the big bucks, Blair," the scientist teased.  
  
"Wow, you sound just like Si--"  
  
"Like?"  
  
"Sorry, no one."  
  
"I think there's something else you should think about, Blair. If a parent is doing their job? Their children _never_ learn what you learned at six. To this day I'm quite convinced that the only thing my mother worries over and cares about is me. She's 75 and still expects me to call when I arrive somewhere, to not forget my scarf or galoshes and she still wants to know when I'm going to find a wife."  
  
Blair looked at his friend and mentor with such a stunned expression that Eli went on.  
  
"Parents never cease _being_ parents, Blair. And their lives _do_ revolve around their children. In fact, it's one of the things I have to deal with when I bring young students along on trips like this one. You wouldn't believe what I have to do to convince terrified mothers and concerned fathers that their baby will be safe. Their nineteen-year-old baby. Or their twenty-year-old baby."  
  
"You notice that you never had the problem with Naomi. In fact, the only ones who did happened to be the Cascade PD and that was because her dear boy was working with the pigs and she thought he was too fragile. Can you imagine that? Me? Too fragile?"  
  
"But I bet she grilled them, didn't she?"  
  
"Hell, yeah. Made me feel about two years old, which even at two, I didn't."  
  
Blair uncrossed his legs, then swung them over the edge of the cot. "Look, Eli, I'm the one with the problem about revolving worlds. And it's okay now. No biggie. Like I said, as long as the world doesn't revolve without me, I'm cool and happy to run alongside."  
  
"I think you're missing my point."  
  
"No, I'm not. I'm just saying you're wrong." Blair spoke with a snappy grin to take the edge from his words, but Eli clasped his hands over his heart and, feigning pain, said,  
  
"I'm wounded here, Blair. Eli Stoddard wrong? Impossible."  
  
"Look, I'm not saying mom doesn't love me, Eli, or that the detectives of Major Crime didn't like me, okay? All I'm saying is that I made a stupid, juvenile mistake. Got sucked into my own press, you know? A legend in my own mind kind of thing."  
  
"This is a fine line we're talking about here, Blair. One person's worth to others. Tricky. Let me ask you this, do you need any of them? Or your mother?"  
  
"Well, I guess we just got to the crux of the matter, Eli."  
  
"And the answer would be?"  
  
"I've always needed my mother more than she needed me. But hey, we move on. Did that make you any happier to know?"  
  
"And the detectives back in Cascade? You need them?"  
  
Blair looked away while at the same time knuckling back his hair over and over again.  
  
"I -- could, there were a few -- and this one -- that maybe I'd like -- and Simon, he was kind of a father figu--"  
  
"I don't think I've ever seen Blair Sandburg tongue-tied."  
  
"Yeah, well."  
  
"So you've discovered that you need people, Blair. That isn't a bad thing."  
  
Sharp, intelligent, and hurting blue eyes captured Eli's hazel ones. "It isn't? Not even when the people you need, don't need you? Feels kind of bad to me, Eli."  
  
"I see."  
  
Then in typical fashion, Blair smiled, stood, stretched and said, "But like I said, I'm okay. Good to go. We humans bounce pretty damn well."  
  
"Oh, sure."

*****

  
  
Simon, unlit cigar stuck in his mouth, opened another drawer in his quest for his favorite pen. As papers slid aside, Blair's face smiled up at him. Simon paused and stared at his ex-observer's pass, then he removed it, sat back in his chair and, as his detectives went about their business in the squad room, he continued to stare at the ID badge.  
  
The lost favorite pen, the one given to him by Blair Sandburg on Simon's last birthday, sat comfortably unnoticed in his shirt pocket.

*****

  
  
"So what do you hear?"  
  
Jim scowled. "Mumbling, Conner. Plain old, everyday mumbling."  
  
"You're supposed to be able to hear _more_ than mumbling, Jim. Is everything all right?"  
  
Jim slapped his hand at the woman behind him. "Will you _please_ be quiet?"  
  
Megan pursed her lips, but shut up.  
  
 _Damn,_ Jim thought. His heightened sense of hearing seemed -- clogged. Like it had been before he'd gotten his ears cleaned the first time. Which he now did -- regularly. He shook his head and tried again. Their suspects must have moved because Jim could just make out a few important words.  
  
"They're about to rabbit. Let's get back to the truck, _now_."  
  
They backed up along the cover of the building, then when clear, made a dash for Jim's truck. Both jumped in and Jim slammed it into reverse, then spun the wheel around and, just as their suspects came around the corner, he revved the engine and took off.  
  
"Call it in, Conner."  
  
She was already reaching for the radio.  
  
Jim followed at a brisk pace, noticing that it appeared that, like his hearing, his vision was less than what passed for normal. As he wove his way in and out of traffic, Megan kept the directions flowing. Sirens could be heard in the distance as their backup joined in the chase.  
  
"Crimeny, is that a gun or is he just happy to see us?"  
  
"It's a gun, Conner. _And_ he's glad to see you. Duck, by the way."  
  
Megan ducked as the first bullet hit the truck.  
  
"You know, I really hate it when they start shooting at my truck. Pisses me off no end."  
  
"I'm not exactly happy myself, Ellison. Do something."  
  
"Well get up off the seat and take this."  
  
'This' was the steering wheel. Megan popped up and started driving. Jim leaned to his left, pulled his gun and with Megan nearly in his lap, he aimed, cursed at the edginess of his vision, then clipped off one shot. The tire of the SUV they'd been chasing blew and the vehicle careened into the curb, bounced back, twisted around and came to rest against a light pole.  
  
Jim hit the brakes and, as he skidded to a stop next to the SUV, the driver's door opened and Miguel Flores, a nice gentleman who'd been happily selling drugs on playgrounds, jumped out and started running. Jim groaned. Why the hell did everyone have to run lately? Couldn't they just give up graciously?  
  
Both he and Megan hit the street but, before having to run far, a couple of black and whites cut off Flores' escape. The guy gave up. Conner started to turn back to the SUV when Jim said, "Adams is out cold. No seatbelt."  
  
"Aw, that's too bad."  
  
"Yeah, ain't it?"  
  
Smiling, they both holstered their guns.

*****

  
  
"Done yet, Ellison?"  
  
"Conner, put a lid on it."  
  
Megan stood and sauntered over to Jim's desk to perch on the edge. She picked up the little cube that Jim _didn't_ use as a paperweight and said, "So, what's wrong, Jimbo?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You seemed a bit off your game today. Not that it would have been noticeable to anyone. Maybe you should see somebody?"  
  
"Who? A Sentinel doctor or something?" Jim hissed at her.  
  
"Well, you could call," she put down the cube and cupped a hand to her mouth, "you-know-who."  
  
"Conner, _you-know-who_ is deep in the jungles of Brazil. They're a little behind on building telephone lines, you know?"  
  
"Oh, well, sure. But you could call the university in Brasilia, leave a message -- maybe?"  
  
Jim shook his head. "Conner, try using that brain of yours. Number one, there's nothing wrong with me that a few days away from _you_ wouldn't cure, and second, if there _were_ something wrong, which there isn't, you-know-who wouldn't get my message for another --"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Excuses, excuses."  
  
"Conner? Get the hell off my desk, okay? I'd hate to have to shoot you."  
  
"You are such a pansy. Just call. Leave a message. Want me to write it out for you?"  
  
"Conner -- go. Now."  
  
Megan Conner rolled her eyes, then walked away.

*****

  
  
Jim glanced around him. Good, almost empty. He picked up the phone, pulled the small piece of paper toward him and looking at the number Blair had written, he dialed.  
  
 _"Dr. Montoya."_  
  
"Doctor, you don't know me, my name is Jim Ellison, and Dr. Blair Sandburg gave me this number -- in order to leave a message?"  
  
 _"Oh, yes, of course, Señor Ellison. I would be happy to give the good doctor any message. The rainy season has hit early and Dr. Stoddard's team will be returning early. What is it I must tell Dr. Sandburg?"_  
  
Jim closed his eyes. Then opened them. "Um, how soon do you expect them?"  
  
 _"In approximately two weeks, perhaps less."_  
  
"I see." Jim gripped the receiver tightly. "Would you be so kind as to ask Doctor Sandburg to call Jim Ellison as soon as he can? It's -- important."  
  
 _"Of course. I'm writing as we speak."_  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Montoya."

*****

  
  
Geraldo Montoya put the phone down and was just finishing the message from Señor Ellison when a screech from the outer office brought him rapidly to his feet. As he hurried around the desk, the edge of his sweater caught a styrofoam cup of coffee. He never gave it a glance as he rushed out to see what new emergency had befallen his secretary.  
  
Five minutes later he returned to his desk, having been forced to show Elsa that hitting delete on the computer was most definitely not 'enter', nor the end of the world. As he sat down, he cursed. Coffee covered nearly a third of his desk. He grabbed a few paper towels, did some quick mopping up, then tossed the drenched towels in the trash, completely oblivious to the fact that the important message for Doctor Sandburg had been included and now rested in his wastepaper basket.

*****

  
  
Petak stared at Blair, then in an uncharacteristic gesture, put his arms around him. Blair returned the hug.  
  
"I'll miss you, Petak," he said in the language of the Umaua.  
  
"My heart will have an empty space that only you may fit. You came to study, but we both learned, Omaki. You are Umaua. You are shaman."  
  
Shaman.  
  
Blair, or as the Umaua called him, Omaki, shook his head. "No, Petak. Not shaman. But honored to be Umaua. And friend."  
  
Petak smiled, then reached up and removed one delicate necklace from around his neck. Holding it reverently, he said, "Shaman, yes. The way of the spirit is within you, Omaki. And I see that it will work well and aid you in the future. Trust yourself. Trust the spirit that resides within." He held out the necklace made from small, raw gemstones and hand-painted beads.  
  
In the center was a small, tan, engraved stone. Petak placed the necklace over Blair's head.  
  
"You are shaman. This will remind you that the way has been shown to you, and now you must follow. And in the following, evil will be shown to you." Then he took Blair into his arms once again.  
  
The morning had been filled with such hugs for Blair and the others, but moments before they were due to head out, Petak had come to Blair, Ortuna by his side. Blair felt his face heat up with color at Petak's words, gestures and his gift. How had he known? Blair had never _once_ told Petak, or any member of the tribe, about Incacha or the 'passing the way of the shaman'.  
  
In fact, no one other than Jim knew. Not that there was anything to really _know_.  
  
Too soon it was time for the Eli Stoddard expedition to leave. As the eight members headed into the jungle, rain their constant companion, Blair looked back. Petak remained standing on the edge of the village, one hand raised in farewell.

*****

  
  
**University of Brasilia**  
  
Blair sat in the small office that had been graciously loaned out to him upon their return from the Amazon. In less than twenty-four hours, the entire team would be heading back to the USA. But at the moment, Blair was taking the advice of his mentor and surfing the net.  
  
"Well, it's all done. The videos, the reports, everything. And tomorrow, back to the States. You looking forward to home, Blair?"  
  
"Sure, Eli. Home. A great place."  
  
Stoddard took the only other chair in the tiny office and leaned an elbow on Blair's desk. "I'm hoping you'll come to New York with me. Present with me."  
  
Blair stared open-mouthed at his teacher. "Eli --"  
  
"Blair, you shouldn't be surprised."  
  
"I guess not. But I -- well, I... did as you suggested. I started to do some research, a little surfing, you know? And well, there are two positions open, um, two civilian positions, one in Los Angeles, the other in -- San Francisco."  
  
Eli's hazel eyes widened. "Ah. And you're thinking of applying?"  
  
Blair nodded, a bit uncertainly. "I need to find my place, Eli, and I think we've both learned that expeditions aren't really me anymore. I don't know if applying is the right answer, but I have to try."  
  
"I think -- you should." Eli picked up a pen and as he started to fiddle with it, he said, "You no longer simply observe, Blair. Maybe it's a result of your years with the Cascade Police Department, I don't know --"  
  
"I wasn't much help to you with the Umaua, was I?"  
  
Eli sat forward. "Blair, your presence there was invaluable. Surely you understand that we'd never have gained their trust in time to do any good if not for you. Your ability to become one with the subject, to get involved, while not looked upon favorably by our fellow scientists, was absolutely vital with the Umaua. Thanks to you, we learned a great deal not only about them, but about ourselves as well. Don't start short-changing yourself."  
  
"Thank you, Eli. But --"  
  
Stoddard held up a hand. "No buts. Now, suppose I go into my 'borrowed' office and write up a reference letter for you? Then, after you've decided which city to send your application and résumé to, you'll have the required reference. And I do believe that I can get Dr. Montoya and perhaps even Dr. Sterling in Boston to add theirs."  
  
"I don't know what to say --"  
  
"Say nothing. Have you decided which city? Or perhaps both?"  
  
"I've -- only one."  
  
"I see. Well then, I'd best get that letter written."

*****

  
  
Blair studied the information page for the San Francisco Police Department. Another city by a bay, and as close as he could get to Cascade.  
  
He clicked on the icon for sending an on-line application and as soon as it came up, he started typing. When he came to the section labeled 'references', he attached the three letters of reference that, thanks to Eli, had been e-mailed to him. He typed in, 'Further references on request', then attached his résumé and with finger poised over 'enter', he took in a deep breath, released it, and punched the key.  
  
As he logged off and shut down, his future traveled the cyber highways. Tomorrow his flights would ultimately take him to Reno, Nevada and Naomi while Eli flew on to New York, and the rest of the team flew to their respective homes and or institutes of higher learning.  
  
Blair stood and packed his laptop away. Tonight, everyone was gathering at a pub called El Gato to celebrate. He thought it a fitting end to one possible life for Blair Sandburg. Oops, _Doctor_ Blair Sandburg.

*****

  
  
**San Francisco, California, SFPD**  
  
"I think we've got our man, Captain."  
  
Captain Harold Lyons looked up at Lieutenant Pillings, who was holding out a file. He took it and began to read through the paperwork. "Impressive."  
  
"And he worked for three years with the Cascade Police Department, Major Crime. Three years experience, Harold."  
  
"I see. His references aren't half bad either."  
  
"No, sir. Can't do much better than Eli Stoddard. Should I contact the Captain Banks mentioned in the résumé?"  
  
"No, don't bother. I know Commissioner Willard, I'll call him. We need to tie this up and hire someone, ASAP."

*****

  
  
Commissioner John Willard signed off on the report and handed it over to his assistant.  
  
As he did, Joan, his secretary, poked her head in the door. "Sir? There's a Captain Harold Lyons on the line for you."  
  
"Harold? Great, put him through." With a wave at his assistant, he picked up the phone.  
  
"Harold? I can't believe it. How long has it been?"  
  
 _"Too long, John. Too long. How's Katie?"_  
  
"She's great. And Lola?"  
  
 _"Never better. Gets more beautiful with each passing day."_  
  
"But you didn't call so that we could wax poetic over our wives, right?"  
  
 _"You nailed it, buddy. I have an application in my hand, for a special civilian position and according to his résumé, he worked for your police department. Major Crime, to be exact."_  
  
"Oh? His name?"  
  
 _"Doctor Blair Sandburg."_  
  
The 'doctor' part gave Willard pause. But of course, it made sense. Banks had told him that Sandburg had finally earned his doctorate.  
  
"Yes, Blair Sandburg was an observer while working on his doctorate. Rode with Detective Jim Ellison for three years."  
  
 _"And?"_  
  
"And, he was -- quite different. But I have to admit, he was, according to Captain Simon Banks, quite helpful. Several cases were wrapped up thanks to his assistance."  
  
 _"So you'd recommend him?"_  
  
John sat back and smiled. How many arguments had he and Simon had in this very office about Sandburg? But the evidence had always been overwhelmingly in favor of the young man.  
  
"I'd recommend him highly. I can't deny that having an anthropologist on my team raised our arrest and conviction rate by over thirty percent. No, can't deny that. He was -- quirky -- to say the least, but I never regretted allowing his observer's pass."  
  
That was a slight lie, but then Simon _had_ shown him the error of his way. And damn, now the SFPD had him. Fuck.  
  
 _"Well, that's exactly what I wanted to hear, John. Thanks."_  
  
They spoke for a few more minutes, promised to get together, then hung up. As Commissioner Willard put down the phone, he wondered again about possibly trying out the cultural or forensic anthropologist position with his department, like so many other cities --

*****

  
  
Lyons put down the phone and looked up at Pillings. "Make the offer."  
  
Smiling, Pillings took his leave.

*****

  
  
Jim sat on the couch watching the game. It wasn't a bad game, pretty interesting really. On the opposite sofa, Simon was leaning forward, beer in hand, as he yelled at the set.  
  
"That never works, Simon. They can't hear you."  
  
Simon shot Jim a nasty look. "Thanks so much, Ellison. Your ability to state the obvious has always been your greatest strength."  
  
"Ooh, a little testy are we? Betting on the losers getting to you?"  
  
Simon snorted and took another gulp of his beer. "Yelling at the screen always worked for Sandburg, why not me?"  
  
Jim closed down faster than a small town on a Tuesday night. Simon shook his head. "Jim, we should be able to talk about him. He's not dead, you know."  
  
Jim got to his feet and headed into the kitchen. He dumped his empty bottle, grabbed another, twisted off the cap and downed the brew in two gulps.  
  
Simon rose and joined him. "Jim, come on. This is ridiculous."  
  
"I left him a message, weeks ago. He never called."  
  
"So?" Simon shrugged his shoulders, "He's still in the jungles --"  
  
Jim reached back and picked up a copy of National Geographic and handed it to Simon.  
  
Puzzled, Simon took it. "Um, Jim?"  
  
"Inside, where they tell you what's coming up."  
  
Simon did as instructed and when he found what Jim wanted him to find, he sighed. Closing the magazine, he said, "Okay, so he's back."  
  
"Weeks back."  
  
"Okay, so why wouldn't he call you?"  
  
Jim turned his head and dead blue eyes stared at Simon. "Because -- it's over. He got what he wanted and he's finally doing what he always wanted to do. We're old history, Simon."  
  
"You can't believe that, Jim. We're talking about Blair here. He lov--"  
  
"You got a better explanation?"  
  
Simon looked down at the magazine, then closed his eyes.

*****

  
  
The woman held out a small cup and waved it under Blair's nose. "I'm betting you know what to do with this, young man?"  
  
Blair gave an exaggerated sigh. "Yeah, I think I have a working idea. Care to accompany me? Make sure I do it right?"  
  
Helen Shields grinned. "Why honey, I'd love to."  
  
Blair backed away, laughing. As he headed to the men's room, he wondered if _this_ time, he'd be able to pee into the cup in peace. Five minutes later, he was returning his 'sample' and thinking that at this rate, San Francisco might be too quiet for his tastes. Not one single person had tried to take over the station while he was in the bathroom. This city would be a piece of cake.

*****

  
  
**Three Months Later, San Francisco**  
  
Blair sat at his dining room table, laptop on and humming, papers spread out around him.  
  
It was Sunday, the window opposite was open and the salty air of the bay filled him and brought a smile to his lips. The day was sunny and bright and, in San Francisco, most welcome.  
  
Blair was twelve weeks on the job, had a new apartment that overlooked the bay, great people to work with -- yep, he was satisfied. He worked hard and had already successfully closed two high-profile cases and was working on his third. But San Francisco was most definitely _not_ a piece of cake.  
  
Seven square miles of hills and wonderful, odd people, detectives who were called inspectors (and he constantly expected _Inspector_ Megan Conner to answer him whenever he said 'Inspector'), wild and woolly car chases and truly strange criminals.  
  
"Blair, honey? How about Chinese chicken salad for dinner?"  
  
"Sounds great," he said over his shoulder.  
  
"Wine?"  
  
"Perfect."  
  
Smiling, he went back to work and as he perused the information that flickered on his computer screen, the smile faded. His current case had a habit of doing that -- wiping smiles off the faces of all involved. Even more so than Blair's first two cases. This one involved children.  
  
Someone was very clever. No long-term kidnappings here. So far four children had simply been late in returning home from either school or play. But when they'd returned, they'd been in shock, or crying, or silent and withdrawn. Parents panicked, called doctors, called schools and finally -- called the police.  
  
To the tired, 'we've seen everything' eyes of the SFPD, the problem seemed isolated and unrelated, until Captain Paul Innes decided to drop the four files on the desk of one Blair Sandburg. Two hours later, the investigation changed radically as Blair had taken his suspicions to _his_ captain.  
  
Now the city was on the alert and Blair was trying to profile their perp and stop him before his crimes escalated -- and Blair didn't think he had much time.  
  
Hands landed on his shoulders and began to massage. He closed his eyes and leaned back.  
  
"Honey, your muscles are bunched up like your sheets."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm running out of time. I _know_ this guy is gonna get serious and --"  
  
"I know, I know. But you'll catch him, Blair."  
  
"You're pretty confident."  
  
Naomi Sandburg leaned down and dropped a kiss on her son's temple. "Yes, well, you're good at this."  
  
Blair twisted in his chair and looked up into his mother's face. "Man, you've come a long way, baby," he teased with a smile.  
  
She gave him a playful slap on his shoulder and said, "Come on, dinner is ready. Let's eat out on the balcony."  
  
"You talked me into it, Mom."  
  
Leaving his work behind for a few minutes of peace, he rose and joined Naomi on the deck where she'd set up dinner.

*****

  
  
Naomi watched her son from her vantage point of the living room. He was on the balcony, his body horribly still. A fifth child had been attacked and was in the hospital and, as Blair had feared, the criminal had escalated his actions.  
  
She sighed in pain for her son and was again grateful that she'd decided to accompany him to San Francisco when his application had been accepted.  
  
It seemed strange to be staying with him, in _his_ home. Stranger still to have no inclination to leave, to travel, to visit others halfway across the world.  
  
The moment Blair had shown up on her doorstep in Reno, she'd known he was in great pain. She'd also understood that he had changed beyond her ability to grasp.  
  
In the past, when they'd reunited upon his return from an expedition, she'd been faced with a ball of such energy that it would wear her out just to watch him. He'd talk non-stop about his adventures, his eyes glowing, face suffused with excitement. And she'd lived those trips through his words. But in Reno he'd told her quietly, and only after she'd prodded him gently. Then -- he'd broken the news that he'd applied for a civilian position with the San Francisco Police Department.  
  
Naomi's shock had been complete.  
  
Her son was _choosing_ to be a cop. All right, a civilian working with the police, but still, it was now a choice that wasn't tied to his doctorate. She'd ranted, raved, and railed against his decision and some of it had even been done in his presence. But in the end, it was Blair's life, his decision.  
  
She could still remember his expression when she'd asked if she could come with him, help him find a place to live. At first, he'd been stunned, but then, he'd grinned. And now, here they were. Mother and son. Already together longer than at any one time since he'd turned sixteen.

*****

  
  
Blair stared out over the city. If he looked at the bay and the lights of San Francisco just right, he could fool himself into believing that he was on Jim's balcony and that the city he was looking at was Cascade.  
  
He closed his eyes, which turned out to be a bad thing, because he immediately saw little Bobby Peete. So small in the large hospital bed.  
  
The sobbing boy had been found huddled in the corner of a sandbox at a park five miles from his home. He was six years old. The only good news was that their perp had managed to continue to avoid rape. The children had been touched, fondled and undressed, but never had there been penetration of any kind. But Bobby had been found bruised and covered with bite marks.  
  
Blair knew that the next child would suffer even greater pain and degradation than Bobby. They had to find the guy and stop him.  
  
Of course, now Blair faced a new hurdle, namely that the psychiatrist who'd been called in disagreed with Blair's assessment of their perp. Doctor Shaeffer was convinced that they were looking at a run-of-the-mill pedophile. Blair was convinced that their suspect, while not hating children, was greatly bothered by them. Sex, control, these were not the reasons their perp acted on children. But for now, the SFPD was going with Shaeffer.  
  
"Blair, honey? Come inside. It's cold."  
  
He turned, smiled wanly at his mother, and walked inside. They both sat on the couch, and as Naomi tucked her legs under her, she said, "I talked with Martha today. You remember her, don't you, Blair?"  
  
"Sure. Stayed with her, what, when I was in fifth grade?"  
  
Naomi nodded. "It was a strange conversation. She's settling down, Blair. Has a house not far from her grandchildren. And are you ready for this? She's going to be a crossing guard!"  
  
Blair stared at his mother. "A crossing guard, mom?"  
  
"Yep. Can you imagine? Our Martha never held an ordinary job in her life, and now she's going to be a crossing guard."  
  
Blair jumped to his feet, planted a kiss on his mother's cheek, grabbed his jacket and said as he ran out, "I'll be back, gotta go to the station. And tell Martha that I love her!"  
  
Left alone, Naomi scratched her head. Was it something she'd said?

*****

  
  
Blair tore into his office, flipped on the light and went immediately to his evidence board. In the middle of it sat the large map he'd posted when the case had been given to him. Red stars marked where each child had been found, including Bobby Peete.  
  
For several minutes Blair stared at the map, then went to his desk, picked up a file, carried it back and, as he rifled through the material, he began to add blue stars, each representing not where the children lived, that would come next, but rather, the schools the children attended.  
  
The first child (Blair refused to call any of the children by the term 'victim') attended Alvarado, the second, Carver Elementary, the third Buena Vista, the fourth child, Alamo and Bobby Peete, Chin Elementary.  
  
Blair, for the sake of creating the picture he suspected was hidden within the information, added a green star that represented where each child lived. But the pattern was incomplete. He needed one more piece of information. And for that, this late in the day, he'd need his computer.  
  
He sat down at his desk, powered up, and five minutes later he was printing out what he _did_ need. Blair started adding yellow stars this time. When he was done, the pattern was complete. Unfortunately, his suspicions _and_ his pattern would have to wait for tomorrow, another school day, before he could test his theories.

*****

  
  
"But that's just it, Captain. Our guy _wouldn't_ pick the children he crosses every day. He isn't stupid. But it _is_ those children who feed his anger." Blair was leaning on Captain Lyons desk, palms flat against the metal. "Sir, I know what Shaeffer is saying, and at the moment, I don't really care _why_ the guy is doing it, but damn it, I _know_ he's a crossing guard. I know it. Let me go out with Russell, let us talk to a few --"  
  
Lyons raised a hand and Blair stopped. "Go. Do it."  
  
Smiling, Blair straightened. "Thank you, Captain."  
  
Lyons shook his helplessly. Like he could ever refuse that look? Geesh.

*****

  
  
"So where do we start, Blair?"  
  
Blair had his notes, a computer-printed version of the map in his office on his lap, and was gazing at it as Inspector Bill Russell put on his seat belt. Russell was the detective that, more often than not, Blair was paired with when he went into the field. Russell was a tall, tough, twenty-year veteran of the SFPD and as different from Blair Sandburg as it was possible to get. Around the station, they were called 'Mutt and Jeff'.  
  
"Hang on a minute. I'm working here."  
  
"And you couldn't have done that in your office? You know I hate this underground garage."  
  
Without looking up, Blair chuckled and said, "For a man who fears earthquakes, don't you think it odd that you live in San Francisco?"  
  
"About as odd as you, a man who hates fog, cold and rain, choosing to live here."  
  
"Touché."  
  
"So what are you looking at, anyway?"  
  
"The areas where each child came from versus where they were found --" Blair's voice trailed off as he picked up another piece of paper. He fingered the necklace given him by Petak, then said, "Head over to the school district office. We need to check on a few things. And put the pedal to the metal, man. We only have an hour before the two-thirty bell rings."  
  
Russell was used to the weird and wacky Sandburg, but he trusted him and his instincts. He put the pedal to the metal.

*****

  
  
Superintendent Rawlings had been more than helpful, and a copy of the list of crossing guards for the area indicated by Blair, now resided in Blair's hands. He and Russell were back in the car as Blair checked off names.  
  
"Sandburg?"  
  
"Give me a moment. I'm crossing off the women and any man too old."  
  
"Too old? How do you figure age --"  
  
"Remember Danny Watkins? Said he gave the 'masked bandit' a run for his money?"  
  
"Ah. So age."  
  
"Yep. Even the most agile grandparent can have trouble keeping up with an eight-year-old."  
  
By the time Blair had finished crossing off names, he was left with five people. He immediately dotted their corners on his map. Russell, looking at Blair's work, said, "So, we go to all five corners?"  
  
"Nope." Blair pointed at one red dot. "Just this one."  
  
Scratching his head, Russell said, "Huh?"  
  
Blair held up the map. "Just look. Carefully."  
  
Bill looked. And spotted the pattern. "Holy shit."  
  
"So? Whatcha waiting for? Christmas?"  
  
"I'm on it, Blair. I'm on it."

*****

  
  
Bill Russell checked his watch. Two-twenty. "Shouldn't he be here by now?"  
  
"Any minute."  
  
Russell nodded. He picked up his newspaper, rattled it a bit, then started to read.  
  
"Oh, Bi-ll?" Blair singsonged a few minutes later.  
  
Peeking over the top of his paper, he growled, "Let me guess, he just pulled up."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Damn."  
  
They watched their suspect from their vantage point of one block down, and as both men spied through binoculars, Blair wished -- not for the first time -- that he was sitting next to Jim. And not just because of Jim's senses.  
  
From their stakeout, the school bell could be heard, and within minutes, they were surrounded by children. They watched.  
  
One hour later, their suspect, Louden Griffen, aged forty-five, retired due to a disability, walked to his car, opened the trunk, put his stop sign and folded chair inside, then closed it.  
  
He stood a moment, rubbing at his temples.  
  
Russell, binoculars still to his eyes, said, "I can sympathize. Those kids were something."  
  
"So were the neighbors. You'd think they'd be used to school getting out, to crossing guards, and the traffic. I mean, the school was here first, you know?"  
  
"Hey, he's leaving. Should we follow?"  
  
"Do I need to answer that, Bill?"  
  
"Right. We follow."  
  
Ten minutes later, Russell said, "Um, Blair? What the hell is he doing?"  
  
"If I'm not mistaken -- he's choosing his next child."  
  
"Well, God damn."  
  
They were in the area of Garfield Elementary School, which had a later bell time than Fremont Elementary, the school they'd just come from. Children were still heading home, running helter-skelter, papers flying as they taunted, teased, played and yelled.  
  
As Blair watched, dividing his time between Griffen and the children, he noticed one little girl sitting on the curb, an open book on her lap. As the minutes ticked by, the neighborhood began to empty as the children moved further away from school and closer to their homes.  
  
Blair felt a tingling on the back of his neck. He turned his attention back to their suspect and wasn't the least bit surprised to find the man's gaze fixed firmly on the girl.  
  
"Russell --"  
  
"Umm?"  
  
"He's chosen. He's gonna move in a minute."  
  
"What? How do you --" Russell didn't finish. The trunk of Louden's car popped open and the man got out of his car, walked back, pulled something out and stuck it in the pocket of the orange vest he slipped back on.  
  
Russell breathed out loudly. "That's how he gets to them --"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"We need to move, Blair. Call it in."  
  
Ooh, now there was something new. Shaking his head, hand already reaching, Blair called it in.  
  
They had to be careful, couldn't risk the child, yet if they moved too soon --  
  
Russell started to get out of the car, but a hand stayed his action.  
  
"No, let me go. He won't even notice me. Trust me on this."  
  
Russell looked up the street, then back to Blair. He nodded slowly.  
  
Blair climbed out, pulled the tie from his hair, quickly ran his fingers through the mess, took off his jacket and threw it back into the car, then untucked his blue shirt and undid the top buttons. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the small transmitter that Russell was holding out, stuck the tiny earpiece into his ear, and with a look at Russell, took off at a slow pace.

*****

  
  
Louden Griffen approached the girl. Her head was bent over the book she was reading and he quickly scanned the area around him. Nothing. No cars, no kids, nothing but what looked like some longhaired weirdo two blocks away. As he closed in on her, she looked up, saw his vest, and went back to her book. He smiled. Wasn't it always this way? What child runs from a crossing guard?  
  
He slipped the syringe from his pocket, bent over and quickly stuck the needle into the side of her neck. She gave a little moan, clapped her hand over the spot, then slowly slid back. Griffen caught her easily.

*****

  
  
Blair saw the man check the street _and_ ignore him. Then he watched as the man slipped something out of his pocket, no doubt the same something he'd just put in it, and Blair could just make out what it was. He nearly froze in place.  
  
A syringe? But none of the children had been drugged --  
  
Which meant that this time -- Griffen was at the apex of his crimes and would, if he had the chance... Blair shook his head. No, Griffen _wouldn't_ have the chance. Blair picked up his pace and hissed into the receiver, "Move now, Bill."  
  
Griffen approached his car, girl in his arms. As Blair came abreast, the man smiled at him. "My daughter. Sound asleep, as usual."  
  
Blair smiled in return and praying that Russell was right behind him, said, "San Francisco Police Department, Mr. Griffen, and you're under arrest --"  
  
Griffen's eyes widened. Behind them, Russell hit the siren and Griffen threw the little girl at Sandburg and ran.  
  
Blair caught her heavily and went to the ground on one knee. Bill was already out of the car and, with gun drawn, was running after Griffen as the man took off down the street.  
  
As Blair cradled the unconscious child, he could hear Bill's booming voice yelling out the usual, _'Freeze you sucker!'_ , his favorite. Griffen froze.

*****

  
  
Captain Lyons stood in front of the two-way mirror and watched the interrogation of Louden Griffen.  
  
"We have more than enough evidence, Mr. Griffen. Make it easy on yourself and confess," Russell prodded.  
  
The man said nothing.  
  
Blair, who'd been standing against the wall, now pushed himself away and said quietly, "You don't hate them, do you? But they're so loud --"  
  
Griffen glanced up and something flickered in his eyes. Blair went on. "Loud, and full of life. They run when they should walk, don't they? Yell when they could talk quietly. And they run across the crosswalk, too, don't they?"  
  
Slowly, Griffen nodded.  
  
"And it was the only job you could get. But the children, so loud. The job would be perfect without them, wouldn't it? You could sit in your chair, in the shade --"  
  
Again, Griffen nodded. Then he said, "I tried to warn them, but they kept it up."  
  
"Of course. Susie Mullens was your first warning, wasn't she?"  
  
"Yes. I didn't really -- hurt -- her."  
  
"But nothing got better, did it?" Blair's voice was gentle, understanding, and Griffen nodded. "So you tried to embarrass them, right?"  
  
"Yes. But they don't learn. They just don't learn."  
  
"So you hurt Bobby --"  
  
"I had to. I had to."  
  
"Of course you did," Blair said, his voice weary.

*****

  
  
Another case closed and the Romano family was down and out. Jim got up and took his report from the printer and slipped it into Simon's box. How long had they been working on Romano? Four years? Yeah. Four years. He sat down and stared at the picture on his desk.  
  
The picture of him and Blair at some retirement party. They were seated next to each other at the table and Jim's arm was around the younger man so that he could put up the two fingers behind Sandburg's head. They were both laughing.  
  
Blair would have loved to know that they'd finally brought Romano down. Or maybe not. Slowly he got up, put on his jacket, said goodbye to Rafe, the only other detective in the squad room, then he headed home.

*****

  
  
**Two Months Later**  
  
"Damn!"  
  
Blair stood in the pouring-down rain as Bill Russell gave him the news. The apartment was empty.  
  
"So damn close, Blair."  
  
Turning away, Blair muttered, "Close only counts in horseshoes."  
  
Russell grabbed an arm. "Blair, this isn't your fault. We'd have nothing if not for you. And now, we have a description, a name, the works."  
  
"Bill, he's already moved on. And how many other people will die before some other police force realizes that they have a serial killer, uh?"  
  
Russell couldn't answer. Blair was right. One woman and one man had died in San Francisco before _they'd_ realized that the killer dubbed the 'The Invisible Man' in Los Angeles was now on their turf.  
  
"Blair, at least when he _does_ strike again, well, the next police force will have a heads-up."  
  
"Great. Just great."

*****

  
  
**Three Weeks Later, Cascade, Washington**  
  
Jim stood in the rain staring down at the body of a woman. The second body in one week.  
  
"Jim?"  
  
He turned to see Simon, dark worried eyes visible to a Sentinel in spite of the rain and Simon's glasses. "Same MO, Simon. She's number two."  
  
"Shit."

*****

  
  
Jim sank down into his chair, hating himself. He was a God-damned Sentinel and they had nothing. Nothing at either scene. Nothing. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes straying, as always, to the picture on his desk.

*****

  
  
The rain came down and Blair found himself staring at the picture of him and Jim that sat on his desk (a larger version sat next to his bed at home). It had been taken at Riley's retirement party and he and Jim had been feeling no pain when the picture had been snapped by Joel. Jim had dropped his arm across Blair's shoulders but the younger man, even three sheets to the wind, suspected foul play. And the expression on Joel's face only served to confirm that thought. Jim had been making devil-ears. The jerk.  
  
Slowly Blair reached out and lightly traced his finger around Jim. Funny how now, all these months later, he could easily admit his love for the man. He was in love with Jim Ellison. Had been for quite some time. But Jim had never returned his call. The call he'd made less than an hour after his plane had landed in Brasilia.  
  
Someone had answered Jim's extension, which meant that the voicemail system was down again. Blair had identified himself and left his number at the university, even though Jim already had it. He'd told the woman to please let Jim know that he was once again in communication with the rest of the world. But Jim had never called. Which had seemed so final to Blair. Out of sight, out of mind.  
  
As the days went on and still no call, the idea of phoning Jim again nearly made Blair ill. Hearing Jim's voice, listening to what he knew would be inconsequential words, and hearing the need in Jim to hang up -- and hadn't Blair heard that need before? So many times? In his mother's voice, in Caleb's voice --  
  
Caleb. One of Naomi's boyfriends and one of the men Blair had almost called father. When they'd moved on, Caleb had encouraged Blair to call him anytime. And Blair had. But it hadn't taken long for the ten-year-old to hear that need in Caleb's voice. The need to hang up, to go back to his life.  
  
"Okay, Blair, you'd better hang up now."  
  
The ten-year-old had nodded unhappily and said a quiet, "bye-bye, uncle caleb," and had slowly hung up, knowing that he would never call again. That Caleb didn't _want_ him to call again.  
  
Blair gazed at the picture of him and Jim. "bye-bye, jim," he said softly. Then he stuffed all the usual feelings down and went back to his computer.

*****

  
  
"Jim, sit down."  
  
"God, I hate it when you say it like that."  
  
"Well, good. I'd hate to disappoint you."  
  
Jim sat and waited.  
  
"We're calling for help on this one."  
  
Jim leaned forward. "Simon?"  
  
"Look, this guy has hit in Los Angeles, Sacramento and San Francisco. Now he's here. The commissioner feels that we need help."  
  
Jim rose and walked to the window. "Simon, what can I say? Maybe he's right."  
  
Shocked, Simon said, "Okay, that's _not_ your normal response. What's up?"  
  
"Nothing. But let's face it, we've got zip. The description we got from San Francisco hasn't helped. We can't find the guy. My senses aren't helping, nothing is. So -- maybe we do need an expert on this thing."  
  
Simon got up and walked around his desk. "Jim, this isn't you."  
  
Turning, Jim smiled. "Wait, now you're complaining because I'm _not_ fighting you?"  
  
"Well, yeah. I was all ready to argue back. Had my words in order, the whole bit. You blew it, my friend. Not a nice thing to do to your captain."  
  
"Sorry, Simon. So who you gonna call? The Feds?"  
  
Simon shook his head. "I'm not doing the calling, the commissioner is. If all goes well, this guy will be here by Friday."

*****

  
  
"Do you have a problem with being loaned out to the Cascade PD?"  
  
Blair swallowed hard. "No, sir, not at all. You just surprised me."  
  
"Well, your killer has moved into their territory and _this_ police department, thanks to you, got farther with the case then Los Angeles or Sacramento. Is it really a surprise that they'd want you?"  
  
 _Want_ _you_. Those words struck home.  
  
"You're booked for a flight to Cascade leaving tomorrow morning at seven forty-five. You'll report to your old boss, Captain Simon Banks upon your arrival. I understand that the commissioner is arranging for someone to pick you up at the airport. Any questions?"  
  
Major Crime wanted him. They'd asked for him. "No, sir. None."  
  
As Blair started out the door, Lyons said, "And Blair? They can't keep you, so don't even think about it."  
  
 _Like hell they can't,_ Blair thought with a grin.

*****

  
  
Shit, he felt like a ten-year-old. He was walking on air. The Cascade PD had asked for _him_.  
  
"Honey, you ready?"  
  
"Yeah, mom. And thanks for taking me, by the way -- and _not_ asking if you could go."  
  
"As if I'd do that?"  
  
"Oh, right. Sorry. Don't know who I was talking about."  
  
"You goose."  
  
They walked downstairs, then into the garage and finally, climbed into Blair's most recent 'find', a 1966 Volkswagen Beetle. As they headed for the airport, Blair couldn't believe the difference in the relationship between him and his mother. Hell, she'd knocked him for a loop when she'd asked to come with him to San Francisco, and then staying? Who was the woman?  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
Naomi grinned. "Well, because without me, you'd have to pay a fortune to either park your car at the off-site airport parking lot, or pay a slightly smaller fortune for the airport shuttle?"  
  
"Um, Mom? Why are you _here_? Not here."  
  
Naomi looked over at her son, watched his profile for a moment, then said, "Didn't we already have this discussion? Back in Reno?"  
  
"Yes, but you're still _here_. I'm settled, Mom, so why are you still here?"  
  
"Should I feel insulted by that question? Has my welcome already worn thin?"  
  
"Mom? Why?"  
  
Naomi sighed. Her son could certainly be difficult at times. "Because I figured you needed me."  
  
"I see."  
  
Traffic had quadrupled as they'd crawled closer to the airport and for a few minutes, Blair was pretty busy trying to avoid people who were running late to their airline of choice. When they finally started moving again, Blair said quietly, "I'm almost thirty, Mom."  
  
"Believe it or not, I'm aware of that fact. I was present when you were born."  
  
"I guess what I'm saying is, that I needed you when I was six, seven, eight, nine, ten --"  
  
"Ah. Now I see." Naomi felt choked up, but she cleared her throat and said, "Honey, we're less than five minutes from dropping you off and I'm thinking now may not be the best time for this discussion, so let me leave you with this thought -- I was a child when you were born, Blair. And not very smart as a mother. And -- I'd give anything to have those years back."  
  
Blair glanced quickly over at his mother. He couldn't miss the truth of her words swimming in her eyes. He reached out a hand and gave hers a gentle squeeze. "Okay."  
  
As he pulled alongside the white curb and turned the engine off, he said, "I'm glad you're here now." Then as he climbed out, he threw over his shoulder, "... because airport parking costs are a bitch."  
  
"Brat."

*****

  
  
Blair looked out the window and could see his city below, sparkling like a jewel in the morning sun. He sighed in contentment. He was coming home. Maybe for good.  
  
Disembarking, Blair stepped out into the airport, but before he could walk more than a few steps, he noticed a tall, good-looking man holding a white placard -- with his name on it. He stepped up to the gentleman and said, "I'm Dr. Sandburg."  
  
"Ah, Doctor. It's an honor to meet you. I'm Raul Marquez, assistant to the Commissioner. I'm your ride."  
  
"Oh? Well, thank you, Mr. Marquez." Blair managed to hide his disappointment that no one -- okay, that _Jim_ hadn't met him, but his mind immediately supplied the reason. They were all in the middle of huge case and, knowing Jim, he was on the streets right now. Marquez took the Samsonite Aspire garment bag from Blair's shoulder, asking, "Did you check any luggage, or is this it?"  
  
"That's it."  
  
"Well, then, if you'll just follow me, Doctor? I'm parked right outside."  
  
"Lead the way."  
  
When they got onto the sidewalk, a large black Lincoln Continental sat in the red zone. Unharmed and unticketed. Of course, the city tag flying proudly from the rear-view mirror might have had something to do with that. Blair gave the car and the tag a mental whistle. He was really traveling in style.  
  
As Marquez put his bag in the trunk, Blair got in on the passenger side, grateful that his first day in Cascade was without rain or fog.  
  
"We'll go straight to the station, Doctor. I'm not sure when the briefing is scheduled, but I'm sure you'll want to get together with everyone anyway. I'll check with Captain Banks regarding your schedule and you'll have this car and a driver at your disposal for the rest of your stay. We've got you booked into the Strand."  
  
Blair _did_ whistle this time. "The Strand?"  
  
Marquez nodded, proudly. Blair just shook his head in wonder.

*****

  
  
Headquarters looked exactly the same. Blair smiled at himself. As if it would look any other way? Marquez had parked right in front, in the red, and, since the car would be Blair's for the duration, it was decided to leave his luggage in the trunk. As they walked inside the double doors, Blair took a deep breath, then exhaled.  
  
God, the place even smelled the same. He looked about him and didn't really see any familiar faces, but then, this was the lobby. As they approached the metal detectors, Marquez paused. "I almost forgot." He took something out of his pocket and handed it to Blair. "Your official ID. Sorry about the picture, but we used the one already on file to make it easier for you."  
  
Blair took the chain and stared at the pass. Same picture, same Cascade PD logo, yes, but everything else was different. This time, in front of his name, it said Doctor. And the title _under_ his name, was 'Official Consultant'.  
  
Official. Whoo-wee. He was inordinately pleased and grinned broadly. Which was weird because of course, he had one very similar from the SFPD. But -- this was the Cascade PD.  
  
 _His_ Cascade PD.  
  
They walked through the metal detectors, then over to the elevators. The doors slid open and officers and civilians spilled out. Blair recognized a couple of faces, but that was about it. As they rode up to six, his heart started beating double time and he felt like an idiot.  
  
The doors opened and he and Marquez stepped out and over to Major Crime. As they entered, someone outside called out to Raul and he paused. Blair went on in and stopped, content to just look. And the first place his gaze landed -- was on Jim's desk. Which was empty. But then, he wasn't surprised.  
  
"Blair?"  
  
Sandburg turned to see Joel moving toward him, arms outstretched, surprise and delight written all over his face.  
  
"Blair, I can't believe it!"  
  
Then he was engulfed within the big man's hug and Blair found himself smiling like a fool.  
  
As Joel finally let go, he asked, grinning down at the younger man, "What on earth are you doing here? And why didn't you call? Tell Jim? Or did he know and just kept it a secret? No, he couldn't have done that, because he'd be here. So, you're surprising him, is that it?"  
  
Blair frowned, confusion spreading across his features. "I -- I'm --"  
  
"Sorry about that, Doctor Sandburg, but -- oh, I see Detective Taggert is taking good care of you." Marquez held out his hand to Joel. "Raul Marquez, Detective. Commissioner Willard's office. I picked Doctor Sandburg up at the airport."  
  
It was now Joel's turn to be confused. But before further explanations could be shared, a booming voice interrupted. "Taggert! Where's Ellison?"  
  
Everyone stopped and Joel turned toward Simon, which had the added benefit of revealing Blair. Simon froze.  
  
"Sandburg? What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
In the space of seconds, Blair felt like an errant five-year-old. Marquez stepped forward and if he was surprised by Simon's words, he gave no indication.  
  
"Captain Banks? Raul Marquez, Commissioner Willard's office. We met several months ago?"  
  
Simon took his eyes from Blair and focused on Marquez. "Of course, Mr. Marquez. It's a pleasure to meet you again. And --"  
  
"I picked Doctor Sandburg up at the airport and brought him directly here, as I wasn't sure about what time you might have scheduled the briefing?"  
  
The confusion that had begun with Blair, then moved to Joel, now spread to Simon. Blair thought it almost funny. Except that it was now obvious that Major Crime had _not_ asked for him at all, and furthermore, had no clue that he was the guy sent from San Francisco.  
  
Blair could feel his heart beating in his ears and couldn't remember a time when he'd been more embarrassed or felt more the fool than now. And that included the time when he was 17 and his roommate had played a practical joke on him, a joke that resulted in the skinny 17-year-old running around the dorm buck naked and locked out of his room.  
  
Blair, as he looked at the frown on Simon's face, had only one wish and it was the same one of twelve years ago -- that a hole would open up below him and, like Rumplestiltzkien, he'd disappear forever.  
  
God damn it, when the fuck was he going to learn? And he knew damn well that his face was probably ten shades of red.  
  
Simon walked over to where they stood and looked down at Blair, his face now registering a polite, professional mask. "So you're our expert from San Francisco?"  
  
Blair couldn't even nod.  
  
"Wait," Joel interrupted, "You're a _cop_ now?"  
  
Blair managed to shake his head and say quietly, "Not a cop, just a consultant."  
  
Marquez chuckled. " _Just_ a consultant, Doctor? Hardly." Then he turned back to Simon. "The Commissioner is thinking very seriously of starting a program here similar to LA's and San Francisco's, Captain Banks."  
  
"Program?" Simon asked without taking his eyes from Blair.  
  
"Several large cities across the United States have begun programs where either forensic or cultural anthropologists are utilized in an official capacity on the force."  
  
"Mr. Marquez, I'm well aware of that fact, and I suggested just such an endeavor to the commissioner two years ago."  
  
"Ah, yes, well."  
  
Blair was feeling worse by the moment and as the two men sparred, he started edging backward, trying to put distance between him and Simon. Then he stopped. He _was_ the expert from San Francisco. Blair squared his shoulders -- but didn't move.  
  
"The briefing is set for two this afternoon, Mr. Marquez. We felt our guest would appreciate the opportunity to rest, have a bite to eat and go over our file on the case."  
  
"Excellent idea, Captain. Has an officer been assigned to drive Doctor Sandburg?"  
  
"Yes, Officer Sheldon." Simon turned to Joel, who immediately said, "I'm on it, Simon."  
  
"Excellent again, Captain. This Officer Sheldon can drive Doctor Sandburg to his hotel, then drop me at City Hall before returning for our guest."  
  
Simon nodded, his gaze once again on Blair. "So, you joined a police force, Sandburg?"  
  
"Um, yes -- Sir." Blair simply couldn't say anything else. Fortunately, he didn't have to. A young female officer entered and Joel immediately introduced her as Officer Sheldon.  
  
Simon went to Jim's desk and picked up a large file, then handed it to Blair. "This is everything we have, Doctor Sandburg. We look forward to any help you can provide."  
  
He was being dismissed. Blair held back every bit of emotion he was currently experiencing and took the file. But speech was beyond his capacity.  
  
"Well, Officer Sheldon, I think we should be on our way. Here are the keys."  
  
It was simple after that. He said goodbye to Joel, nodded at Simon and walked out.  
  
Just like that.

*****

  
  
Simon watched the elevator close and suddenly he needed to sit down. He walked over to Jim's desk, Joel quietly following, and as he dropped into Jim's chair, his friend said, "Care to explain why you treated Blair as if he were the enemy?"  
  
"Joel, not now."  
  
"There's no one around, Simon; yes, now. Blair is our friend, and he became a cop, of sorts, he's here, and yet you treated him like shit."  
  
"Have you heard from him, Joel? Since he left?"  
  
"Of course. Letters. True, not in awhile, but I'm the one who didn't answer the last two, which probably explains why I knew nothing about San Francisco. The last letter I received, Blair was in Reno."  
  
Simon looked up at Joel, a stupefied expression on his face. "Tell me you're kidding?"  
  
"No, why? You've heard from --"  
  
Simon shook his head.  
  
"Jim?"  
  
Again, the shake.  
  
"You're telling me that Blair never called Jim?"  
  
"That's what I'm telling you."  
  
"There's something wrong, Simon. That's not Blair. But damn, it sure explains Jim."  
  
"Shit. Jim. I've got to get a hold of him, warn him --"

*****

  
  
Blair stood in the middle of his room, mouth open. Okay, it wasn't a suite, but so what?  
  
It was -- spectacular. On the table in front of him sat a huge basket of fruit and wine. Okay, what the fuck was going on here? Police departments do _not_ wine and -- fruit -- visiting consultants. They just don't.  
  
Oh, shit. Of course, Commissioner Willard had made some huge error and thought Blair was someone else. Maybe -- yeah, maybe Doctor Corning, the forensic anthropologist working with the LAPD?  
  
 _Don't be an ass, Sandburg. They used your old picture for the ID badge. They **know** who you are. Okay, fine. So explain all this, if you think you're so smart? _ But neither of him could.  
  
Blair walked over to the table, tore into the basket, grabbed a bottle of wine and a banana, then walked out onto the balcony. And what was with balconies and him, anyway? Couldn't seem to get away from them.  
  
With a little effort and not much thought, he got the wine open and before he realized it, he'd downed half the bottle. Not good. Especially since in exactly -- he checked his watch -- in exactly three hours, he'd be heading back to the station and... Jim. Blair finished the bottle. Hey, it was a small bottle.  
  
Dropping down into one of the two chairs, he peeled the banana and started to eat. Twice he almost called Captain Lyons and twice he stopped. There were two Sandburgs on the balcony and they were warring with each other. Unfortunately, the wine had confused both of them.  
  
He stared at the banana peel in his hand. He could always call his mother.  
  
"Hey, Mom? This is your almost thirty-year-old son and -- they didn't want me."  
  
No. Not like that.  
  
"Mommy? They don't want me."  
  
There you go. Blair Sandburg. Big -- scratch that -- _short_ baby. Short wuss. Short.  
  
Fuck. There was some nutcase out there killing people and here he sat moaning and bemoaning his fate. Blair got up, dumped the wine bottle and banana peel, then went into the bathroom, turned on the shower -- cold water -- stripped and stepped in.  
  
He stood there for as long as he could stand it. When his mind was sharp _and_ silent, he climbed out, dried off, put on clean clothes, grabbed the file Simon had given him and headed downstairs to the restaurant.

*****

  
  
"I'll take a Cobb salad and a coffee."  
  
The waitress nodded, smiled and moved away. Blair pulled the file to him, opened it and started reading. When his lunch was placed in front of him, he ate and continued to read. He could have been eating glass for all he knew.  
  
An hour, one salad and three cups of coffee later, Blair closed the file. There was even less evidence here than San Francisco. Which was odd. Blair had been certain that with Jim, there'd be _something_ no one else had been able to find. But he knew the two cases backward and forward now. He was ready. And first up on the docket was heading to the station _now_ and facing Simon.  
  
Blair stood, dropped a twenty on the table, picked up the file and his jacket then headed outside to the limo and Officer Sheldon.

*****

  
  
"Conner, where is he?"  
  
"Doing his thing. We're in the alley where Sharon Furey was found."  
  
"And his cellphone?"  
  
"Oh. He forgot to charge it."  
  
Simon closed his eyes. Jim never forgot to charge his cellphone.  
  
"Put him on."  
  
"Well, he's in one of those moods --"  
  
"Last time I checked, _Inspector_ Conner, I was your captain. When I say jump, you say --"  
  
"Now, Sir, you know when you ask _me_ to jump, I ask why."  
  
"Sandburg is the expert sent by San Francisco."  
  
"You know, Sir, I think I'll go get Jim."  
  
"What an idea."

*****

  
  
Conner held the phone in her hand and stared at Jim Ellison. Then with a shrug, she got out of the truck and walked over to him. "Jim? Simon's on the phone."  
  
He turned, a surprised look on his face. "I didn't hear you."  
  
"Not surprising. You were concentrating pretty hard." She held out the phone.  
  
A worried frown on his face, Jim took the phone. "Simon?"  
  
"Jim, the expert arrived a couple of hours ago and you need to prepare yourself -- it's Blair."  
  
"Simon, this is no time --"  
  
"I'm not joking. He's part of the San Francisco PD."  
  
"You're telling me he's a _cop_!?"  
  
"Consultant. On the payroll."  
  
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache was back. He was probably repressing. He snorted, then said into the phone, "Fine. Great. It's not as if Blair being the expert is a bad thing, Simon. In fact, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have helping us."  
  
"He's at the Strand."  
  
"I'm not going over there."  
  
"You know the Strand? The big building on the corner of Broadway and Harbor?"  
  
"Simon, I am _not_ going over to the Strand. We'll all see Sandburg at two. I assume that the briefing is still _set_ for two?"  
  
"Yes. By the way, the Strand is twenty stories tall. You can't miss it."  
  
"Give it up, Simon. Unless _you'd_ rather go over there?"  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
"Tsk, tsk. That is no way for a modern, progressive leader to talk."  
  
"You're handling this better than I did, Jim."  
  
"Simon?"  
  
"I wasn't exactly my usual, charming, progressive, modern self."  
  
"Uh-oh."  
  
"He's a big boy now. He can handle it."  
  
"Oh, he's grown?"  
  
"Jim, so help me --"  
  
Jim turned around so that he wasn't facing Conner. "Simon, was there ever a time when he _couldn't_ handle us?"  
  
"Go see him."  
  
"Goodbye, Simon."  
  
Jim flicked the flip-top of Conner's phone and handed it to her.  
  
"We heading over to the Strand?"  
  
"Conner, shut up."

*****

  
  
Jim pulled up in front of the Strand and stared up at the building. Conner stared at him.  
  
"I'll -- I'll be right back."  
  
"Of course you will, Jim. Say hi for me."  
  
Jim shot her a nasty look, then jumped out and walked inside. He strolled up to Registration and when a pert blonde asked him how she could help, he asked for Blair.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Doctor Sandburg left about fifteen minutes ago."  
  
Jim nodded and slowly turned away. He'd been primed and ready to see Sandburg again and now --  
  
He walked back outside.

*****

  
  
"Simon?"  
  
"Rhonda?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "It's -- Blair. He's here to see you."  
  
Simon checked his watch. Damn, it was only one. He kept staring at the second hand of his watch.  
  
"Simon?"  
  
He wasn't up to this. Not now. Not yet.  
  
"Show him in."  
  
Simon rose, faced the door and wondered why he felt like a criminal at his execution.  
  
Blair had left them behind. Not the other way around.  
  
"Simon. I thought -- we should talk before the briefing."  
  
Simon managed to smile and hold out his hand indicating the chair in front of his desk. Blair moved over and took it.  
  
"I sensed a problem when you saw me earlier, Sir. A problem that could affect my ability to work with Major Crime -- or should I say, their ability to work -- with me -- again."  
  
Simon watched Blair drop his head in a gesture that was so familiar, Simon found himself smiling.  
  
"I -- have to admit -- I thought, when Captain Lyons told me that I was being loaned out -- well, I thought you'd asked for me. I realize now --"  
  
Blair paused and Simon found himself leaning forward --  
  
"I -- well, it was obvious no one told you anything, which also means this isn't your choice."  
  
Blair finally looked up and Simon caught that gleam of stubbornness he'd always (almost always) looked forward to seeing.  
  
"But the fact is, Simon -- I can help. I've closed three high profile cases in the short time I've been with the --"  
  
"Why, Blair?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Why San Francisco and not Cascade? You chose, against all the odds, to _not_ teach, to _not_ be this doctor you studied for fourteen years to become, and you end up with the San Francisco PD? You end up, for all intents and purposes, a _cop_ , Blair, and I'm asking why."

*****

  
  
Jim pulled into his parking space and with an angry twist of the key, shut off the truck.  
  
As he sat there, Conner unmoving beside him, he wondered at his anger.  
  
"He's probably visiting friends --"  
  
"Right."  
  
"He'll be in shortly, Jim."  
  
"Right."  
  
Then Jim looked at her, pale blue eyes open and hurting. "Why, Megan? Why?"  
  
"What do you mean, Jim?"  
  
"Why the SFPD? Why not us?"  
  
Megan placed a hand on Jim's. "Maybe because we never asked him?"

*****

  
  
Blair was stunned. Simon was asking _why_? "Are you kidding, Simon?"  
  
"I don't make it a habit of kidding someone who, at the first opportunity, took off."  
  
Sandburg could feel the nerve in his face twitching dangerously. He clenched his hands into tight fists. "That is so typical of you, Simon." He stood, anger barely contained. "Look, the only question is whether you and your team can work with me. There's a killer out there and I think we can catch him. And I've never _taken off_ in my life. That was my mother's gig, not mine."  
  
Simon rose. "Then why, the minute you had your doctorate, did you _take off_?"  
  
"I don't fucking believe this. I waited almost all week for Jim to say something, anything. I stood right here, in your office, told you --"  
  
"That's right, Sandburg. You _told_ me. You'd already made up your mind. How were we supposed to know that maybe, just maybe, there was another choice?"  
  
"Gee, I don't know Simon. Maybe three years putting up with all your shit, being told every day, what I wasn't? Or maybe it was three years of killers, thieves, gunrunners, drug lords, psychos, and mad bombers? Not to mention God damn fucking stubborn Sentinels.  
  
"You think I put up with all of that for a stupid _title_ in front of my name? Hell, I had a dissertation ten times over after my first year in this asylum. Twenty times over by my second and by my third year as Jim's little tagalong, hell, I had a fucking Pulitzer!"  
  
Blair exhaled as he shook his head. "Oh, yeah, I hung around here, went through all that shit for a title. Man, if that's true, I need professional help. Hell, I need it anyway. I came back. I fucking came back."  
  
"Yes. Well."  
  
Blair blinked. "Yes, well? That's it? That's what you have to say? Yes, well? Man, I'm a grade-A asshole, that's what I am. Try this on for size. Get yourself another expert."  
  
Blair started to turn, hand reaching out for the door, when it opened and a red-faced Jim Ellison stood in the opening.  
  
"Hey, Chief. Long time no see."  
  
Blair was paralyzed. Literally. He couldn't move, breathe, hell, he couldn't even blink. Maybe it was a brain tumor. That would be good. A nice, simple brain tumor -- and he had minutes to live. Just - a - few - minutes.  
  
"So, you two having a nice chat?" Jim asked, his face downgrading to pink.  
  
All Blair could do was stare at Jim. The man was standing there, and in spite of the flushed countenance, (Blair was pretty certain that it was due to Jim's having overhead Blair's little diatribe), he was fucking beautiful and his voice poured over Blair like honey and he hated him. Hated Jim _and_ Simon. Now if only he could fucking move, he could get the hell out of Simon's office, the building and ultimately -- Cascade.  
  
The door slammed shut and jerked feeling back into Blair. He gave a little start, then blinked. "Yeah, long time no see, Jim." Wow, he'd even managed to sound -- normal.  
  
Blair looked from Simon to Jim, Jim to Simon. "Excuse me, but I think I need some coffee. I'm going to the break-room before we pick up where we left off."  
  
Blair pushed past Jim but stopped at the door, held up a finger and warned, "Now don't go anywhere, you guys. I'll be right back."  
  
Blair strode toward the lounge, and he could hear Jim behind him, and Simon behind Jim. He kept going, pushed open the door and froze. "I don't fucking believe this. An espresso machine? You guys finally got an espresso machine and you fucking wait 'til _I_ leave?"  
  
Jim nudged Sandburg into the room. "Got it the day after, Sandburg. The day after. You should have heard the guys. 'Oh, goody', they said. 'Now that Sandburg is gone, we can rush right out and get ourselves an espresso machine.' Yep, that's what they all said."  
  
Blair's eyes narrowed. "Dickhead."  
  
Jim held his hands up and with mock terror, said, "Ooh, tough guy, now."  
  
"Ellison, Sandburg. Shut up, sit down and --"  
  
Blair's movement toward the large, elegant brass machine stopped Simon cold. He turned to Jim. "The kid's ignoring me."  
  
"The kid," Blair said, to no one in particular, "isn't a kid. He's a grown man. Short, but grown. Has a gun, too, so watch out."  
  
"San Francisco PD actually lets you carry, Sandburg?" Jim asked drolly.  
  
"Yep. And I'm a good shot, too. Just thought I should warn you both."  
  
The machine was making several god-awful sounds and Blair stared at it oddly as he grabbed a cup.  
  
"It does that all the time, Sandburg," Jim offered helpfully.  
  
Blair nodded, turned and started for the refrigerator and milk. At that moment, Rhonda stuck her head in and said, "Simon, don't use the espresso machine, it's been acting up. I've called some--"  
  
The machine blew.

*****

  
  
"Jim, remind me again of how long Sandburg's been in Cascade?"  
  
"Three hours."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
Simon looked up at the clock on the wall of waiting room in emergency, then back at Jim.  
  
"I miss this place. I miss _this_."  
  
"What, waiting for Sandburg in Emergency?"  
  
"Mmm. This is like old home week."  
  
"You know, the idea that Blair was always getting hurt was a total misconception, Simon."  
  
Banks held up his right hand and started ticking the injuries off, one by one. "Bruised hand, drugged, kidnapped and beaten, shot, pistol-whipped, broken nose, Golden overdose, bruised ribs, beaten up two blocks from home --"  
  
"Okay, okay, you win. _But_ , they didn't _all_ result in us sitting here."  
  
"Split hairs, Jim, split hairs. And by the way?" Simon gave Ellison the once-over. "You're a mess."  
  
"Yeah, well, exploding espresso machines will do that to you. And you're not so clean yourself."  
  
"Fortunately, thanks to you being ahead of me, you took the brunt of it."  
  
"It wasn't on purpose, Simon." Then Jim stood up. "He's coming."  
  
Simon rose and sure enough, Blair walked down the hall and into the waiting room. His right shirtsleeve had been cut up and dangled in pieces from his arm, which was bandaged. His hair was a mottled mess, his face dark with splotches of coffee, his clothes equally so.  
  
"Everything okay?" Jim asked, real concern tingeing his voice.  
  
"Fine. The burn isn't serious. Lucky the water was the only thing that had heated up."  
  
Both Jim and Simon looked at each other. Their thoughts exactly. One look at Blair's coffee-covered face was proof of that. Jim stepped forward. "Come on, Sandburg, let me take you back to the loft. We can both get cleaned up and change and still be back at the station for the delayed briefing."  
  
Blair shook his head. "I'll go to the hotel."  
  
"Chief," Jim missed the wince at the use of the nickname, "It's over thirty minutes to the Strand from here and only a few to the loft. It's the practical solution."  
  
"Sandburg, Jim's right. The team will be in conference room at four and if you go back to the --"  
  
Blair held up a hand in surrender. "Fine. The loft."

*****

  
  
The ride to 852 Prospect was made in absolute silence. Jim didn't know what to say and Blair was so still, head turned to the window, that Jim felt there wasn't anything _to_ say. When he pulled up in front of the building, he couldn't help but note that Blair's heartbeat accelerated, but Blair simply took off his seatbelt and climbed out, then waited patiently on the sidewalk.  
  
Jim sighed.  
  
"You know the way, Sandburg."  
  
"After you."  
  
Jim sighed again, but walked past Sandburg and headed indoors. A few minutes later, they were entering the loft.

*****

  
  
Blair remained where he was, standing only a few feet beyond the front door. As Jim took the steps at almost a run, Blair swallowed the lump in his throat and looked around. As his eyes took in the space that had been his home for three years, he was overwhelmed by the sense of Jim.  
  
Everything this place had meant to him, the warmth and security that was Jim, the different odors that represented Jim, all of it assaulted him. Blair closed his eyes, but the strength of the place, the smells, well, he was pretty certain that if he didn't sit down, he'd fall down, but then Jim was coming downstairs and walking over to him, hands full.  
  
"I found these a few weeks after you left, while I was doing the laundry." Jim handed Blair a pair of old but clean blue jeans. "They were tangled up with an old pair of mine. Guess you missed them. And you remember this?" He let the green shirt dangle from one finger. "You washed it for me and shrunk it. I suspect it'll fit just fine."  
  
A small smile twitched at the corners of Blair's mouth. As he took the shirt, he said, "Well, I'm thinking I probably shrunk it on purpose."  
  
"Always thought so, Chief. Always thought so."  
  
"Hey, it looked better on me!" Blair said defensively.  
  
Jim's gaze softened. "No argument there." Then he cleared his throat and angled his head toward the bathroom. "You know the way. I'll clean up in the kitchen."  
  
Blair nodded and slipped past Jim, down the hall and into the bathroom.

*****

  
  
Jim watched as the door shut, then he walked into the kitchen, stripped off his shirt, dropped it on the counter, turned on the hot water and taking a clean dishtowel, quickly wiped himself down.  
  
He'd been hit by the coffee, too, but to nowhere near the degree that Blair had. When he was done, he grabbed his wet shirt, jogged back upstairs, dumped it in the laundry basket by his dresser, pulled a black sweater out of his drawer and slipped it on over his head. His jeans were a bit damp so, after toeing off his shoes, he stepped out of them, dropped them in with the shirt, and took another pair from his rack and put them on, then his shoes. He walked downstairs but stopped halfway.  
  
Jim could hear Blair in the shower. Clearly. Better than he'd been able to hear in months. And he hadn't even been focusing --  
  
Knees wobbling, Jim sank down to the step. Aw, God, he could the water sluicing down over bare skin, the sounds of Blair's hands as he lathered up, then slid them over his chest and Jim could _tell_ those hands were moving across Blair's chest because he could hear the soap catch in the soft hair, could hear the difference, the slight squeakiness of it and his mouth dropped open.  
  
He shouldn't be listening, but he didn't stop.  
  
Couldn't stop as he cocked his head and smiled at the sound of wet feet moving along the bottom of the stall, at the wonderful, gentle, more muffled _~thumd~_ of water hitting skin instead of tile, and the incredible, almost musical sound of Blair's hair swishing against his neck and ears and cheeks. Jim closed his eyes and let his hearing have its way with him.  
  
The absence of the sound of water brought Jim out of his self-induced zone and he shook himself, then rose and walked the rest of the way down. A few minutes later the bathroom door opened and Blair stepped out. He was barefoot and wearing the jeans, the green shirt on, but not yet buttoned. His hair was wet, since there was no dryer, and he held a towel to the ends, fingers working the soft terrycloth against the curly ends. Jim had never seen anything or anyone more beautiful than Blair at that moment.  
  
"Kept the arm dry?" Jim was surprised at how strong his voice sounded.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Hurt?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Why didn't you call, Blair? Why, when you --"  
  
Blair's head snapped up. "What are you talking about? I called. I called less than thirty minutes after reaching Brasilia. _You_ never returned my call."  
  
"I called you _before_ you got back to Brasilia. Three _weeks_ before. I left a message. And what do you mean you called me?"  
  
"What do you mean you called me and left a message?"  
  
"I called and asked Dr. Montoya to have you call me on your return, and what do you mean you called?"  
  
"But I never got any --"  
  
"And I never got any --"  
  
Both men stopped. Then Jim took a step closer. "Blair, I never got any message that you'd called."  
  
"I never got yours either, Jim."  
  
They stared at each other.  
  
"You called me?"  
  
Jim nodded. "I called. And you really called me?"  
  
"I called. But Rhonda was absent, the voicemail system was down and I got someone named --"  
  
"Elsie?"  
  
Blair nodded helplessly. "She said she'd give you the message when you got back."  
  
Jim shrugged just as helplessly, "She was a temp. _Very_ temp." Then he said, almost in shock, "You called."  
  
"I called." Blair dropped the wet towel on the back of one of the chairs, then as he started to button his shirt, he asked quietly, "Why didn't you call back?"  
  
"I could ask you the same thing."  
  
With a wry smile, Blair said, "You first."  
  
"No, after you."  
  
"You called first."  
  
Jim shrugged again. "I figured when you didn't return my call, that, well, that you had what you wanted, were doing what you wanted --" his voice trailed off as he watched the expression on Blair's face change.  
  
"I see." Blair's gaze drifted away from Jim and focused on the floor. "I can see -- I mean, you would," then he looked up, "Is that how Simon felt, too? Is that what you told him?" Jim nodded miserably. "I see," Blair said again.  
  
Jim watched Blair's skin go pink and he could see the pulse at Blair's neck start to work overtime. "Blair, please --"  
  
"No, it's okay, Jim. I understand. I do."  
  
"You didn't call me back either, Blair," he pointed out gently. "Why not?"  
  
Blair gave a small jerk of his shoulders. "Seemed to be no point. I knew where I fit in the overall scheme of things. You had your life back, your home back and we both know that I was the odd man out. The interloper. The message seemed clear."  
  
Jim was astounded. He closed his eyes tightly and could feel his body swaying.  
  
"Jim? Jim? Are you all right?"  
  
A hand, that voice -- He opened his eyes and nodded, then looked down at Blair's hand on his arm. The hand was quickly removed.  
  
"Blair, please."  
  
"We should get to the station, Jim."  
  
"We have time. We need to talk about this. God, Blair, you were never the interloper, and when you left, I got nothing back."  
  
"Jim, that's bullshit. Because I didn't return a call, you thought --"  
  
"I know, I know. But don't you see? It was easier believing that than face the truth, Blair."  
  
"What truth could be so hard that you'd believe so little of me?"  
  
Jim's laugh was not a healthy one. It was dry and brittle. "What truth, Chief? Well, try this on for size. You were gone and I didn't think I'd be able to function without you. But damn, I couldn't stop you, couldn't tell you the truth, couldn't ask you to stay, to give up all that you'd worked so hard to attain -- I had to let you go."  
  
"Oh." Blair dropped his head and Jim watched as wet hair fell forward and obscured Blair's face.  
  
For what seemed an eternity, Jim waited, breath held, hands clenched. He watched as Blair brushed aimlessly at his jeans. He needed to say something more -- but -- was now the time?  
  
Blair looked up finally and Jim found himself holding his breath once more.  
  
"Did you say that you found my jeans in the laundry?"  
  
Not having a clue where Blair was going, Jim simply nodded.  
  
"All tangled up -- in yours?"  
  
Again Jim nodded, this time adding a frown.  
  
"That explains it."  
  
"Explains what, Chief?"  
  
"Can't you hear them? My jeans?"  
  
At Jim's bewildered look, Blair said, "My God, you're a Sentinel and you can't hear my jeans chanting?"  
  
Jim cocked his head. "Blair?"  
  
Sandburg moved closer to Jim, then cupped his ear. "Listen, can't you hear that?"  
  
"Hear what?" Jim asked suspiciously.  
  
"They're saying," Blair's voice rose, high and squeaky, 'take me, take me, take me -- off'."  
  
Like a summer storm passing, Jim's pale blue eyes cleared and he smiled. "Really?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, man. How 'bout yours?"  
  
"Well, now that you mention it, I do believe I can hear something -- it's faint, but yeah --"  
  
"And?"  
  
"I can just -- make it out -- they're saying," Jim lowered his voice and leered as he said, "Get... your... ass... in... gear," he paused and pretended to listen with greater concentration, then in the same low voice, said, "and... get... the... fuck... out... of... those... jeans."  
  
"Ah. Well, it sounds as though our 501s suffer from separation anxiety. We should probably get them together --"  
  
"Oh, yeah, definitely." Jim stepped into Blair's space and hooking his finger in the belt loop of Blair's jeans, he tugged until Blair was flat against him. Watching Blair's eyes, he slowly unzipped said jeans. When the zipper was completely lowered, Jim placed his palm against Blair's erection.  
  
Blair's eyes closed and he swayed.  
  
"Whoa, steady there, Chief."  
  
"Easy for you to say. You don't have a hand palming your dick."  
  
"You could fix that, Sandburg."  
  
"No, use Chief. Say it again, Jim."  
  
Lowering his head until his lips were mere centimeters from Blair's ear, he whispered, "You could fix that, _Chief_."  
  
"God, I missed that. Missed the way you say it, the way your voice lowers --"  
  
Jim tugged at the still-damp earlobe and Blair groaned. "So when I say it, does it turn you on?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Big time. Do you have any idea how hard it was to hide a boner in Simon's office every time you'd say 'Chief' in just that way?"  
  
Jim chuckled low. "And all this time, I thought you had a thing for Simon."  
  
"Oh, yeah, right. Admit it, you never even noticed."  
  
Jim kissed a trail along Blair's jaw line, then said, "Why do you suppose that was? I'm a Sentinel. You'd think if I noticed every time Rafe's compass started pointing north when Conner walked by, I'd notice _you_."  
  
"Not so odd, Jim. You lived with me. I'd long since been catalogued and stored. I was a 'barely there'."  
  
Jim brought a hand up and placed his palm against Sandburg's cheek, then moved it into the wet hair. "Blair, you were _never_ a 'barely there'. But in my defense, I did have to 'turn you down', so to speak, or I'd never have accomplished anything."  
  
"I was that overwhelming, was I?" Blair scoffed.  
  
"You can't begin to know, Blair. You just can't begin to know."  
  
Jim watched delightedly as Blair's eyes widened in shock. He thought now might be a good time to kiss him.  
  
Wow.  
  
Wow.  
  
Addictive.  
  
Wow.  
  
Wet hair, wet mouth, damp skin -- Jim was swimming in Sandburg. What's that you say? Life preserver? No thanks, the water's fine. And the whole kissing idea? Superlative. Best idea ever. He deserved a medal for that idea. When a man's right, a man's right and he wasn't the least surprised at how good the kiss actually was either. Blair was a great kisser. Hadn't Sam told him that almost two years ago?  
  
 _"The guy drives me batty, Detective, but can he kiss or what? Oh. Too much information, Detective Ellison? Understood. But --"_ Sam had sighed heavily then, her eyes going all dreamy. _"But he **can** kiss." Then she'd winked. "And that's not all, not by a long shot. But he **does** drive me up the wall." _  
  
Speaking of walls? Jim was up against one even as his tongue was petting Sandburg's.  
  
He cracked open one eye. Now how in the hell had he gotten way over here? And was it his imagination, or was Sandburg trying to climb him?  
  
He pulled away, put his hands on Blair's shoulders and held the younger man off. "Are you trying to -- climb -- me?"  
  
"Hey, you're tall and my neck only stretches so far. Hell, I had a sore back for days after that kiss with Conner. So yeah, I'm trying to climb you."  
  
Blair pushed forward at his last words, but Jim held strong. "You kissed Conner?"  
  
"Like you didn't know? And she bit me, too."  
  
Blair pushed again but Jim shook his head. "No way, Don Juan. Explain the Conner kiss."  
  
"Jiiiim!"  
  
Geesh, the guy was whining. "Sandburg, explain."  
  
"You are such a schmuck. My dick is so hard, I could smash a diamond with it and you want to talk about a kiss Conner gave me during a case? Are you, like, crazy or something?"  
  
He was still pushing, but at the same time, doing a little dance and trying to adjust himself. Jim thought it was kind of cute. Not that his own dick wasn't protesting. It was.  
  
"So this kiss was during --"  
  
"The whole Vince Deal thing, yeah, you idiot. You teased me for days."  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Okay, you can --" Jim let go and Blair nearly fell into him, which didn't stop the younger man one iota. He grabbed Jim's head, yanked it toward him, then thrust his tongue down Jim's throat.  
  
Wow.  
  
When they came up for air, Blair was smiling -- with his eyes. "You have the sexiest mouth, Jim. If I wasn't in such need for this," it was clearly Blair's turn to palm an anxious dick, "I'd say more tonsil hockey, but --"  
  
"But?"  
  
"But I _am_ in need -- so let's add a few things to our repertoire."  
  
"God, but you're --"  
  
"Romantic? Yeah, I know. Let's go." He took Jim's hand and started tugging him toward the stairs.  
  
"I always loved your bedroom. So high and big and airy. Gonna love making love with you in it."  
  
Like a docile child, Jim followed behind. It was obvious that this was no longer his show.  
  
"I'll bet you always wanted to direct, didn't you, Sandburg?"  
  
Without pausing or missing a beat, Blair said, "Lights, camera, action, big boy."

*****

  
  
The guy was all over him. It was like having a small horny dog covering you with wet kisses, fur catching in your mouth, never knowing when the next hit would happen -- or where. Jim liked it. But while good for his body, he wasn't getting much opportunity to even _see_ Blair, let alone enjoy him.  
  
Oh.  
  
On the other hand -- Blair had moved. Down. Way down. Down _there_. Okay, he could wait his turn. He could. No problemo. Jim lifted his head. Opened his eyes.  
  
"Aw, God."  
  
He'd never seen anything like it. Blair was -- beautiful. Hands moving up and down Jim's inner thighs, lovingly, softly, gently. His hair skimming Jim's skin lightly, tantalizing him even as Blair's tongue licked easily, playing with Jim, teasing him, taunting him --  
  
Jim drew his legs even wider apart and he could hear the sigh of contentment from Sandburg. He smiled as he let his head drop back and closed his eyes. He opened himself to every sensation, dialed up his sense of hearing, then his sense of touch, and finally his sense of smell.  
  
God. He was nearly overwhelmed. But he didn't turn anything down. Maleness. Dark and heavy and delicious.  
  
"Blair --"  
  
He couldn't say anything else. Nothing else needed to be said. Jim came in hard fierce bursts of semen, his body giving way to the rush. But even as his orgasm tore through him, he never once lost the scent of Blair, the feel of Blair, or the sound of Blair --

*****

  
  
Okay, so he'd rub until Jim moved, opened his eyes or -- woke up.  
  
Jim was still breathing hard, eyelids flickering, so Blair moved languidly up and down, hoping to get a rise out of his Jim. It didn't work, so with palms flat on the bed on either side of the man, he rose up and with a grin, whispered, "Don't move or anything. Hard, diamond-smashing dick here, but hey, I can take care of it. Wouldn't want to impose or anything --"  
  
Jim's eyes shot open. "Impose? This kind of imposition I could handle, just give me a few. I'm not as young as I was this morning."  
  
"I do that to people. Age them."  
  
Jim peered down at his bed warmer. "Now _there's_ a remark that you resemble."  
  
"So you're saying..." Blair asked, a devilish gleam in his eyes, "... that since I've been gone, there's been no one to harass you and drive you insane, which in turn -- has left you younger, which in turn -- means that you should be able to satisfy the young stud currently rubbing his body energetically over yours, right?"  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Naturally. Why, I'm impressing myself right now with my ability to satisfy you while doing nothing but -- languishing."  
  
Blair stopped and with eyes suddenly dark with emotion, said, "You know, you _could_ do nothing and I'd still be satisfied." Then he did a damn fine Groucho Marx impression with his eyebrows and flicking an imaginary cigar, said, "However, necrophilia is a dying art, so the secret word is _do something_ , Detective Ellison."  
  
"That's two words."  
  
Blair's answer? Serious rubbing. Then he grinned. "Well, whaddaya know? There's life down under after all."  
  
"I think it was the reference to necrophilia that turned me on."  
  
"Oh?" Blair said, one eyebrow cocked. "Well, in that case --"  
  
Blair flopped over on his back, closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and said, "Go for it, buddy."  
  
Jim rose up on one elbow and stared at the man. Blair's eyebrows were dancing -- as were his eyes -- and he was grinning while giving Jim pointed looks at his bobbing dick --  
  
"Okay, okay. If I must, I must," Jim said with an exaggerated put-upon manner. Then he launched himself, and with Blair's laughter ringing in his ears, began his own assault.  
  
"You have the cutest body, Sandburg," he managed to murmur as he plucked an errant strand of curly chest hair from his mouth.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, they all say that. Cute, short, furry. Would you get on with it, already?"  
  
Jim smiled, the grin taking over his entire face. It lit him up and took years from him.  
  
"Get on with it? _Get_ on with it?"  
  
Blair grinned right back, then reached out and ran his finger over Jim's bottom lip. Voice soft with love and passion, he murmured, "Yeah, get on with it. I need you."  
  
They stared at each other and Jim nodded, a nod that seemed to accept so much -- finally. He bent his head and touched his lips to Blair's, then moved down and began to love the cute, funny, furry body.  
  
He licked as much skin as he possibly could, enjoying the salty tang and oddly sweet flavor that was the man who was _Chief_. He managed to avoid Blair's dick, deliberately fawning over every inch of skin _around_ the insistent organ. He was really enjoying Blair's impatient sounds, the deep groans and breathy moans. But eventually, his own need drove him to the _diamond-crushing_ dick and, with a smile, he took Blair into his mouth.  
  
"Ah, Jim," Blair breathed out, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.  
  
Jim sucked, let his teeth just graze, hollowed his cheeks, his fingers stroking Blair's legs, his hips and quivering stomach. And then the truly amazing thing happened. Blair's body started -- singing. It was the only word to describe the fact that Jim was being told, via his senses that Blair was on the verge. He couldn't believe it. Every sense was sharp, tuned in and sending messages to Jim that Blair's orgasm was on its way. He found himself humming in tune with Blair's body, which drove Blair over the edge. He came and it seemed to go on and on, Blair bucking endlessly as he said one word, over and over again --  
  
"jimjimjimjimjim --"

*****

  
  
"How much time do we have?" Blair asked dreamily.  
  
"Counting showers --"  
  
" -- _er_. Show _er_."  
  
"Show _er_ , we have forty minutes."  
  
"Mmm. Just enough time for a short nap --"  
  
Jim smiled into Blair's hair and planted his hand on the back of Blair's neck. "So sleep. I'll wake you when it's time."  
  
Blair nodded, then shifted a bit, wiggled a lot and finally settled right back into the same position he'd started out in. Sighing happily, he rubbed his cheek lightly over Jim's skin. As his eyes drifted shut, Jim whispered, "Love you."  
  
"I should hope so, I'm a gem."  
  
"Yes, you are, Chief. An insecure gem, but a gem nevertheless."  
  
"I am _not_ insecure."  
  
"Really?" Jim asked, as he twisted a bit to get a better look at Blair's face. "That's why you accepted the fact that I supposedly didn't call?"  
  
"So? Just means we're both insecure where the other is concerned."  
  
"Not exactly, Chief. Not exactly. I thought less of you in order to mask the truth. You accepted the fact that I didn't return your call because it was expected."  
  
"That makes no sense, Jim. Too much semen. You'll need to cut back."  
  
Jim tweaked a curl. "Don't even try it, Sandburg. Why didn't you get mad? Why didn't you call me and yell? Why did you just accept?"  
  
Blair sighed, shifted again, and pushed up and away. "I'm thinking a nap is out, right?" Jim waited, his look clearly indicating the uselessness of Blair trying to misdirect.  
  
"How am I supposed to answer that, Jim? I mean, how the hell should I know?"  
  
"Come on, Chief. You never let me get away with anything. So why this time?" Jim leaned over and tapped Blair's pug nose. "Insecure, that's why."  
  
"I'm the least insecure guy I know. And talk about insecure --"  
  
"I never said I wasn't, Blair. I'm not the one rafting down the Nile, you know?"  
  
Slowly Blair moved to the edge of the bed and with a quick glance to the floor, found his jeans, grabbed them and started to put them on. Then he stood, zipped up and, picking up the green shirt, he headed downstairs without a backward glance.  
  
Jim stared up at the ceiling, then whistled low. "Okay, that went well."

*****

  
  
He let the warm water hit his chest and watched as the last trace of their lovemaking was washed away. Blair picked up the soap and made short shrift of washing off. He wondered why he wasn't feeling anything. He should have called Jim again. So why _had_ he allowed the fact that Jim, supposedly, hadn't returned his call to keep him from trying again?  
  
"Damn."  
  
He stopped and stood quietly, the water hitting his stomach.

*****

  
  
Jim heard the muttered 'damn' and knew it was time to join Blair. It was amazing how, once he'd acknowledged his love and need of and for Sandburg, his way was clear to him. He opened the door, stepped over to the shower, then pulled the curtain aside and climbed in behind Blair.  
  
He took the soap from the still fingers, lathered up and began to wash Blair's back. He spread the creamy soap across tense shoulder blades, then down the stiffening spine. Using his thumbs, he gently massaged each vertebra, working his way back up and out. Slowly the younger man relaxed and when Jim sensed Blair's total surrender, he pulled him into his chest.  
  
"I sometimes forget, Blair. I had all the clues, but you always made light of your early years, of Naomi's boyfriends and what they meant to you. You've just always made do, haven't you? Believed that --"  
  
"-- that everyone would eventually need me to hang up so they could back to their lives," Blair whispered, his voice breaking slightly.  
  
Jim was a Sentinel and a detective. He could put those words together with what he knew and it made sense. All the men Blair would get close to, and then Naomi would move on and maybe there'd be phone calls and the boy eager to talk with a man who'd been like a father, but the man had always moved on, the boy forgotten --  
  
Jim held Sandburg tighter. "I don't know what this year has been like for you, but for me, it's been like seeing the world through a pair of sunglasses, only indoors. Food lost its flavor, sunrises were dull, sound was noise. My senses were heightened, but it was as if they were operating under water. Not quite as sharp, not quite right.  
  
"But now I've surfaced and every sense is at its peak, Chief. Making love with you was like nothing I've ever experienced, heightened senses or not."  
  
Jim rested his chin on Blair's shoulder. "We're a team, Blair. We belong together, and now we are. I'm never going to hang up on you. Never."  
  
Blair rested his head against Jim's chest, closed his eyes and smiled softly. "And I'll never leave you. Never."  
  
Jim understood that it wasn't over for Blair, but for now, the bond between them had been re-forged. They were partners.

*****

  
  
"You ready?"  
  
Blair smiled. "Ready."  
  
"Then we're off to the briefing. I can't wait until the gang sees you."  
  
Blair shook his head helplessly. When had Jim moved to Fantasyland? Not that Blair didn't expect surprise, but by now, Joel had told everyone and other than a hug from Conner, well, business as usual.  
  
"Let's go, Jim. We have a killer to catch."  
  
"Right behind you, partner."  
  
Okay, now _that_ sounded great. Business as usual.  
  
The ride to the station was so radically different from the ride to the loft _from_ the station, that both Jim and Blair continually found themselves catching the other's eye. And grinning. Time seemed to roll back and for the eleven minutes it took to drive to the station, it was if the last months had never happened. And yet -- had.  
  
Blair sat in the passenger seat and it was if he'd never left. As if he still lived at 852 Prospect instead of 312 Oceanside.  
  
Jim turned into the underground garage and parked in his usual spot. As he shut off the engine, he glanced over at Blair and again, grinned. Blair shrugged, then said, "Who said you can't go home again, anyway?"  
  
"Not me, Chief. Not me."  
  
They got out and took the familiar walk to the elevator, both suddenly aware that this time things _were_ different. Jim was walking beside a highly-paid consultant for the San Francisco Police Department, who was here to help them catch a serial killer. Jim grabbed Blair's arm and stopped him just before he pushed the button on the elevator.  
  
"How much _do_ you make now, Chief?"  
  
Blair went ahead and punched the button, then smiling, said, "More than you, Jimmy-boy. More than you."  
  
"All right," Jim said, as he stepped in and punched six. They rode up the seven flights -- grinning broadly.  
  
When they got out of the elevator on seven, Jim turned Blair right. "We're meeting in conference room two. That's where the evidence board is set up."  
  
Blair nodded and together they walked down the hall. Blair hadn't missed the fact that the squad room had seemed almost empty and the two detectives he spotted were unknown to him. Shift change was still one hour away so the hall was relatively empty as well. At the door to number two, Jim stopped and looked down at Blair. "You ready?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Jim held the door open for his partner.

*****

  
  
Simon was perched on the edge of one of the work tables, an open manila folder in his hands, head bent as he read. Around him, the rest of the special task force sat in various chairs, talking quietly or staring at the evidence board that had been set up at the front of the room.  
  
As the door shut, all eyes turned toward the entrance and, as surprise spread over the room, it was obvious that Joel _hadn't_ told anyone, nor had Simon.  
  
In spite of the fact that Conner knew about Blair, she was _still_ the first one up and had her arms around Blair before anyone could blink. "MY GOD, SANDY!" Then she was kissing his cheek, then his lips, and finally simply touching him. "You look terrific, Sandy! Is your hair shorter?"  
  
Before Blair could answer, Henri Brown was thumping him on the back. "Hairboy, you're back! When did you get here?" Then he turned to Jim. "Ellison, how could you keep this from us?"  
  
"Jim didn't know, H, relax. And I arrived earlier this morning."  
  
Joel watched from his chair next to where Simon perched and when he spotted Jim's hand -- resting on Blair's back -- he looked up at Simon. Who was grinning. Then Rafe was up, along with Wilson, and Blair was surrounded.  
  
Simon allowed the welcome to continue for several minutes because it was painfully obvious that Blair needed it, his expression saying it all. He was clearly stunned by his reception. But they had a job to do, so eventually, Simon had to stand, clear his throat and say, "Ladies, gentlemen, we have work to do --"  
  
"Aw, Simon, this so-called expert isn't even here yet, give us a break. We haven't seen Hairboy in months and --"  
  
With a sly smile, Simon interrupted. "Hairboy _is_ our so-called expert, Brown."  
  
Dead silence. Wide-eyed stares. Open mouths.  
  
"Now, can we get this briefing started? We have a great deal of information to share with _Dr._ Sandburg." Simon couldn't help the sense of pride that enveloped him when he finished.  
  
'Dr.' Sandburg.  
  
Their expert.  
  
Things were looking up -- finally.

*****

  
  
"So now you have it all, Sandburg."  
  
Blair stood in front of the evidence board and nodded as Simon finished his briefing.  
  
"Do you mind if I put up the other victims? I think it will help."  
  
"Please do." Simon turned to Brown, "Henri? Will you get --"  
  
"No need, Simon, I have my own." Blair patted the large folder he'd brought with him. Then he opened it and started taking out pictures of the victims from Los Angeles, Sacramento and San Francisco. He moved the pictures of Cascade's two victims down to the end, then pinned the others up, in order of date killed.  
  
Simon watched, as did the others. They were surprised when Blair lifted out several color coded cards and pinned them beneath the pictures, then stepped back, satisfied. Turning, he faced Simon. "Do you mind if Jim takes me to both crime scenes?"  
  
Simon's eyes widened. "No, of course not, but --"  
  
"I just need to see it," Blair glanced back at Jim knowingly, "for myself, Simon."  
  
Simon leaned in toward Blair and said quietly, "Everyone knows, Blair. Everyone."  
  
"I never found anything, Blair," Jim added.  
  
Two blue neon signs blinked back and forth between Simon and Jim. Then Blair nodded. "Understood. Let's go, Jim."  
  
Everyone watched, open-mouthed, as Blair led Jim out. When the door shut behind the two, the rapidly-fired questions started. Simon thought Conover would be a good place to visit right about now.

*****

  
  
"Jim?"  
  
"They're going crazy in there."  
  
Blair reached out and grabbed Jim's sleeve. "Come _on_ , let's go."  
  
"Don't you want to know what they're saying?"  
  
"Why didn't you tell us, Simon; how did this happen, Simon; how long has he worked for the SFPD, Simon; why isn't he working for us, Simon; did you see the way he just dragged Ellison out of here, Simon; and finally; just like old times, Simon. There, have I covered it all, Jim?"  
  
Looking disgruntled, Jim said with a pout, "You left out, _He looks so cuuuute, Simon_."  
  
"Conner always says that."  
  
"Yeah, no doubt, but this time, it was Rafe," Jim said smugly.

*****

  
  
"Okay, why are we here again? There really was no evidence to find, Chief."  
  
Blair gave Jim an exasperated look. "Jim, Jim, Jim. Didn't you just tell me that your senses have been muted for the last months? And that now -- or was that just a new kind of line?"  
  
"A new kind of line, Sandburg?"  
  
"Yeah, you know. A line. To get a guy into your bed?"  
  
"You were _already_ in my bed, Sandburg."  
  
"True, true, but still. You wanted more, right? You're such a typical guy."  
  
"Uh, Sandburg? So are you."  
  
"Yeah? Well, I didn't lie to get me into bed."  
  
Jim scratched his head. "Wait, I didn't lie. My senses _have_ been muted. Now they aren't. If you choose to take that remark as being aimed at you --"  
  
"You mean it wasn't?"  
  
"Of course it was, what I meant was, if you think that remark was aimed simply at getting more sex --" Jim stopped as he caught the clownish expression on Sandburg's face. "I hate you."  
  
Blair grinned happily. "Would you just turn on the human crime lab and do your thing, asshole?"  
  
Jim grimaced and said, "It's just sooo good having you back. Just so good."  
  
Blair simply rolled back on his heels and kept on grinning.  
  
Jim, spurred on by that grin, started moving around the shadowed alley where Melissa Fontes had been found. As he moved, his body language changed and Blair watched with satisfaction as Jim became the Sentinel of the Great City and turned his expertise to the crime scene.  
  
"This is odd --"  
  
"What, Jim? What?"  
  
"This is -- this wasn't -- there's no way I could have missed this before -- I mean, I found animal hairs, but --"  
  
"Jim?"  
  
Ellison leaned over, pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket, put them on, then pulled out a baggie and a small case from which he extracted a pair of tweezers. He squatted down and lifted something up, then placed it carefully into the baggie. "A hair. Blonde, not the victim's. This wasn't here before, Blair."  
  
"Yes it was. The scene has been taped off, no one has been here, right?"  
  
"Supposedly."  
  
"Jim, pull it out again. Can you tell if it's human, or if the color is real or dyed?"  
  
A moment later, Jim cursed. "How did you know?"  
  
"He had to change his appearance. Wig or dye job?"  
  
"Dyed. And this hair is short, the end neatly clipped. Our guy now has very short hair and is a blond."  
  
"Keep looking, Jim."  
  
Jim straightened and started to move about again, but found only a few carpet fibers, which he placed in another baggie. As Jim stood, Blair said, "Okay, scene number one, Jim."

*****

  
  
Déjà vu. Two more blonde hairs found, plus more carpet fibers. Another alley, another chalked outline.  
  
"Sharon Furey had hardwood floors, Chief. She also had two area rugs, both Persian. These fibers, like the others, are synthetic."  
  
"Let's get back to the station."

*****

  
  
"Shit, Jim. How?"  
  
Jim shrugged. "What can I say? I'm not sure how I missed them before, other than that fact that -- well, my senses seem sharper now," his voice trailed off at the look on Simon's face.  
  
"Hey, it happens, you know? A Sentinel can't be on top of things every minute. It's kind of like --"  
  
"An athlete, Jim? On and off your game, so to speak?" Simon's look was innocent and didn't fool Jim one bit.  
  
"Sir, we both know --"  
  
"Uh-huh. Get out of here, Detective."  
  
"Yes, sir."

*****

  
  
Blair stared at the board. Something was very wrong. Missing. But what? He got up and stood in front of it. Pictures, personal facts, crime stats, so what was missing?  
  
"Hey, how ya doing?"  
  
"Great. Simon happy?"  
  
Jim sat down at the table where Blair had been working and nodded. "Very. He's turned the evidence over to Forensics. If we get a suspect in here, we'll have something to work with now. A few more nails. And I see you've already updated the board."  
  
"Yeah, but something's missing. I just can't figure out what --"  
  
"It looks complete to me. You have all the pertinent info on our victims and the others, like age, occupation, hobbies, anything that could tie them all together --"  
  
"Of which there isn't. Anything to tie them together."  
  
"I suspect there is, we just haven't found it yet."  
  
Jim cleared his throat and grinned evilly, "That's why _you're_ here. By the way."  
  
"Stinker."  
  
Jim chuckled, then said, "So what's missing?"  
  
"Gee, Detective, if I knew that, guess what? It wouldn't --"  
  
"-- be missing," they both finished together.  
  
They laughed, aware of how morbid it was amongst the pictures of the victims, and how much they both needed to release their tension.  
  
Calming, Jim finally said, "You'll figure out what's missing. Don't worry."  
  
Blair nodded and turned back to the board. Then he started muttering, "Age, family, occupations, job addresses..." then he slapped his head. The addresses. No home addresses on the board. Important? Maybe not, since all the victims were killed in out-of-the way locations, such as alleys, abandoned buildings and empty lots. But still --  
  
Blair sat down, completely unaware of Jim's eyes watching him with love, hunger and relief.  
  
He pulled the folders toward him, then a set of evidence strip cards.  
  
One by one, he printed out the addresses and when he was done, he pinned them to the board under each picture.  
  
"I see you figured out what was missing?"  
  
"Yep. Simple, but bugging me."  
  
"Okay, now they're up there. So?"  
  
"So -- nothing. I just feel better."  
  
"You are so weird."  
  
"Yep." Then Blair looked at the board. At the addresses. He squinted in spite of wearing his glasses --  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"I don't know. But -- there's something odd about the addresses, isn't there?"  
  
"No. They look normal to me. And no repeats, nothing odd about the actual numbers, no sequences, nothing."  
  
Blair walked back to the board, got up close and peered at each card. Then his face cleared. He grabbed a piece of chalk, then marched over to the blackboard and began to scribble.  
  
"Um, Blair?"  
  
"Hang on, just give me a minute." He kept on scribbling. When he was done, he stood back and hit the board with his chalk. "Look. This address. What does it remind you of?"  
  
The address belonged to victim number five. 345 Isaiah Avenue.  
  
"Nothing, Sandburg."  
  
Blair underlined 'Isaiah', then tapped the street name with the chalk. "Come on, Jim. Isaiah."  
  
Jim shook his head again.  
  
Blair pointed to another one. 1427 Proverb Street. "O-kay. Proverb. What does that --"  
  
Jim's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "The Bible!"  
  
"Now you're cooking, Jim."  
  
"Put the rest up."  
  
Blair wrote quickly, then stepped back to reveal the board.  
  
14 Habak. 345 Isaiah. 1311 Kings Street, #2. 61 Michael Avenue. 33 Nerum Court. 118 Obadea Lane. 1427 Proverb.  
  
"Okay, now what? I mean, I get Proverb, that's got to be Proverbs. And obviously Isaiah is just that. And I'm guessing that Kings is the book of Kings. But the others?"  
  
"Tsk-tsk, Jim." Then Blair did some more writing.  
  
Habak became Habakkuk, Michael became Micah, Nerum court became Nahum and Obadea became Obadiah.  
  
"Books of the Bible, the Old Testament, Jim. He's using the Old Testament."  
  
"And the numbers?"  
  
"Chapters and verses?"  
  
Both men looked at each other and at the same time, said, "We need a Bible." Then, again, at the same time, exclaimed, "JOEL!"  
  
They rushed from the room.

*****

  
  
Skidding to a stop in front of Joel's desk, both men, breathing hard, said, "Do you have your Bible here, Joel?"  
  
"Um -- what?"  
  
In perfect unison, Jim and Blair said, "Bible. Your Bible? We need it!"  
  
Joel slowly opened his drawer and took out a small book, then as if uncertain of their sanity, said, "Are you guys --" but he got no further. Blair grabbed it, turned on his heel and ran out.  
  
Before he followed, Jim smiled. "Wanna see the expert from San Francisco in action?"  
  
At Joel's nod, Jim said, "Then follow me."  
  
Joel got up, as did Rafe, Brown, Conner and Wilson. Like a troop of scouts, they followed Jim into the conference room.  
  
Blair was already bent over Joel's Bible as he scribbled furiously on a legal pad. As he worked, Jim took the others to the blackboard.  
  
"There you have it, guys."  
  
Everyone looked. Then Henri said, "Well, holy shit."  
  
Blair scribbled, then flipped through the pages of Joel's Bible while the others stared at the writing on the blackboard.  
  
"The numbers?" Conner asked.  
  
"Chapter and verses," Joel answered in awe. Then without turning, he asked, "Blair, what kind of verses appeal to our killer?"  
  
Blair put down the pen and swiveled in his seat. "Any verse that he could interpret as giving him permission, or even the _right_ , to kill."  
  
Joel pondered the board, reviewed the numerical addresses, then pointed to the last victim's address and said, "Book of Nahum, chapter 3, verse 3. _'Horsemen charging, flashing sword and glittering spear, hosts of slain, heaps of corpses, dead bodies without end -- they stumble over the bodies'!_ "  
  
"Holy shit," Brown said again.  
  
Blair nodded. "He's getting cocky. That one was aimed at us." Then he pulled the writing pad toward him and said, "From the book of Habakkuk, chapter 1, verse 4. _'Therefore the law is slacked, and judgment doth never go forth: for the wicked doth compass about the righteous; therefore wrong judgment proceedeth'._ "  
  
"Okay," Rafe said, "I get that one, Sandburg. He's saying the law does nothing. But where I'm confused is what have these people done that our killer thinks they should die?" he asked, eyes still on the board.  
  
"They didn't do anything, Rafe. Nothing at all. He's killing because to him, we're all sinners. He feels justified in his acts because he's perverted the Bible to his needs. He believes that God has given him the right to slay the evil because there is no law on this earth doing it for him."  
  
"So he takes a verse and translates it into the method of choosing his victims?" Wilson asked.  
  
"Exactly. Which means," Blair paused as he looked at the faces of his friends, then said, "that we can find his next victim, and hopefully before he kills again."  
  
"Wait, books of the Bible are one thing, but how the hell do we decided which book comes next, let alone which chapter and verse, and finally, translating _that_ to an actual address?" Rafe asked, frustration tingeing his voice.  
  
"He's going alphabetically, Rafe. The last victim was P and there is no book that begins with a Q, so -- the next book could be Ruth --"  
  
"But," Joel interrupted, "Ruth has no possible verses that meet your requirements, Blair."  
  
Sandburg smiled and nodded. "Yeah, so I've just discovered. Which brings us to the book of Samuel. I'm looking for verses now. Once we find anything that fits, we match to real addresses."  
  
"O-kay," Detective Robert Wilson said, a question in his voice. "I get all of this, _but_ , the addresses started with the book of Ezekiel, where's the book of Amos? Or Chronicles?" Seeing everyone's disbelief at his knowledge, he grinned sheepishly. "Hey, I went to Sunday school, okay? Give me a break."  
  
Everyone laughed, but then turned to Blair for the answer. Looking uncomfortable under their steadfast gazes, he said, "You have to realize that several things go into this. He has to find the verse that gives him _permission_ to kill, then the matching streets, or at least something close, followed by the matching address. _And_ the one other thing all our victims had in common, namely that they lived alone.  
  
"I'm -- guessing -- that until Ezekiel, he didn't find what he needed. But, and this is a big _but_ , if you look at Ezekiel, well," Blair flipped a few pages of his pad and said, "In Ezekiel, God comes to him and says, among other things, _'Hard of face and obstinate of heart are they to whom I am sending you. But you shall say to them: Thus says the Lord GOD!'_ and I'm thinking, this is what got him going. Permission to go forth, to face the obstinate, the sinners."  
  
"But of course," Jim added, "Instead of preaching to the obstinate sinners, he's chosen to interpret God's word as giving him permission to cleanse the land of these 'hard of face' sinners."  
  
Smiling in relief, Blair nodded. Everyone stared at him, but then Conner smiled and said, "So, I'm thinking we need a few more Bibles, right?"

*****

  
  
"Here's a good one," Jim said. Everyone stopped their reading and waited expectantly.  
  
He read quickly, then looked up.  
  
Blair shook his head. "Not quite right."  
  
Everyone went back to work.  
  
After Conner's statement about needing more Bibles, Jim had taken their new 'evidence' to Simon and, in less than an hour, six Bibles had been delivered. Now the team sat in the conference room, Bibles open to Samuel 1 or 2, everyone searching and trying out various verses. But so far, Blair had nixed them all. No one questioned his decisions; they simply went back to looking.  
  
Suddenly Blair said, "Megan, put this into the computer, '129 Samuel or Samuels'."  
  
"Street, avenue, what?"  
  
"All of them. Courts, lanes, circles, streets, whatever."  
  
She quickly typed it into the Thomas Brothers' map software program and a few seconds later, she whooped. "We've got three. 129 Samuels Avenue, 129 Samuel Lane, and 129 Samuels."  
  
"Chief?"  
  
Blair picked up his Bible and read, "He will guard the footsteps of his faithful ones, but the wicked shall perish in the darkness. For not by strength does man prevail."  
  
Jim scratched his head, then rubbed at his chin. "O-kay, but how, I mean, that's not quite as judgmental as the others."  
  
"No," Blair said with a wry half-smile, "But it _is_ a warning to us. He knows we were on to him in San Francisco, forced him to leave before he'd finished. We know who he is, what he looks like. He'd want to give us a message this time, a message given to him by God. That he is well guarded and that the strength of our numbers will not prevail."  
  
Everyone immediately looked over at Henri Brown, who obliged by saying, "Holy shit."

*****

  
  
"What about other possible verses?"  
  
Jim rose and walked over to Simon, who now stood in front of the evidence board. "We found a couple of other possible verses, but no corresponding address."  
  
"I see." Then he asked, "What do you want to do, Detective? Obviously we set up three teams for observation, but --"  
  
"No, sir. Not necessarily. The one thing all our previous victims had in common was living alone, whether temporarily or permanently. We're waiting now for printouts on the people who live at our addresses."  
  
At that moment, Rafe barged in, hand in the air, waving a computer printout. "Got it! Of our three choices, only one address, 129 Samuel Lane, is occupied by one person. Jonathon Curtis. Single, age 35, works for the water department. It's a house over in the Belmont Heights area."  
  
Simon turned to Jim. "So how do you want to handle this, Detective?"  
  
Jim glanced over at Blair, who was studiously cleaning his glasses, his face slightly red. Jim touched Simon's arm and gave his head a jerk, indicating Blair. Simon looked over, then puzzled, back at Jim, who rolled his eyes.  
  
Simon's expression changed as Jim's subtle message hit home. Turning around, he faced Blair. "So Sandburg? What do you suggest our next step should be?"  
  
Blair's head shot up. "Sir?"  
  
"How do you want to handle this?" Simon asked again, his tone almost gentle.  
  
Blair's eyes flicked over to Jim, who smiled encouragingly, then Blair glanced back at Simon. "I -- I think," he checked his watch, "we need to find out Mr. Curtis's hours, then stake out his residence. All the evidence supports the fact that the victims were taken from their homes late at night, then killed."  
  
Simon nodded then said, "Right. Let's get to work then, people."

*****

  
  
A quick call to the Cascade Water Department confirmed their target's working hours. He was a senior accountant and basically worked the nine to five shift. It had also been confirmed that Curtis had left for the day. Another quick call placed Curtis at home. Two more calls were made.

*****

  
  
Using the fact that their perp never allowed more than three days to pass between victims, Jim and Sandburg took the first shift and parked several blocks from the house, but -- thanks to their position -- Jim could not only hear what was going on in the home, but could see it as well.  
  
Taggert and Conner were parked another two blocks from Jim and Blair and to the east, while Rafe and Brown were to the west. If and when Jim heard or saw anything, they'd all be ready to move.  
  
"What's happening, Jim?"  
  
"He's watching Peter Jennings and the news."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Jim glanced over at his partner and noticed the way the younger man was rubbing at his thighs. He hadn't seen that gesture for a long time.  
  
"You're nervous."  
  
"No kidding, Jim."  
  
"Guess I don't need to ask why. But you're right. I feel it."  
  
"Oddly enough, the moment I read that verse, I felt it too. But if I'm wrong -- we could be sitting here while our guy kills someone else."  
  
"Ain't gonna happen, Chief. Ain't gonna happen."

*****

  
  
"He's doing the bed thing."  
  
"If the perp is gonna hit tonight, it will be in the next two hours or so, Jim."  
  
"I know."

*****

  
  
The street was silent and, other than a few porch-lights, and the streetlamps, it was obvious that most of Belmont Heights was asleep. The moon was shrouded by clouds and the shadows of the night shifted with the slight breeze that had come up around midnight.  
  
Jim had finally, and at Blair's insistence, catalogued all the normal sounds of the neighborhood. He knew which fences creaked, which gates weren't tightly shut, where every dog and cat was located, and he could easily identify the different hums of refrigerators and freezers. He'd long since tuned out the various sounds of sleep that surrounded him. Which left him open to the different. The unusual. Which he was hearing at that moment.  
  
"Sandburg, I think we've got something. I'm heading out."  
  
Blair lifted his head and frowned. "Jim --"  
  
"Stay here and get ready to call it in."  
  
Before Blair could say anything else, Jim was gone -- a shadow melted into other shadows.

*****

  
  
The van pulled up in the alley behind 129 Samuel and the driver cut the engine. He glanced about him, noted with satisfaction that all was quiet, and silently slipped from his car.  
  
He was tall, all in black. He moved swiftly to the gate that separated him from the sinner, and unlatched it. As he stepped into the back yard, he missed the shadow that detached itself from another building south of 129.

*****

  
  
Jim moved with stealth as he saw their quarry enter John Curtis' back yard. He pulled out his gun, then whispered into his mike, "He's just entered the back yard. Taggert, Brown, move in, but silently."  
  
Blocks away, Conner, after a glance at Taggert, started the engine, and leaving the headlights off, headed for Samuel. Rafe, a few blocks away, did the same.  
  
Blair heard Jim's command and he immediately slid over and started the truck. But unlike Conner and Rafe, who parked on Samuel, Blair decided on the alley. As he turned off of Elm and onto Baker, the street that would connect him with said alley, he turned off his headlights.

*****

  
  
Jim crept forward and paused. The killer was at the back door. Jim saw a flash of brightness and realized that the killer was picking the lock. Seconds later, he slipped inside.  
  
Jim moved quickly.

*****

  
  
The killer moved slowly and cautiously through the house. He entered the long hallway, then moved silently to the second door on the right.  
  
Turning the knob, he carefully eased the door open. Ahead of him, the man slept.  
  
He approached the bed and as he reached the side of it, he slipped something from his pocket. With a gloved hand, he pulled the covers away --

*****

  
  
Conner and Taggert took the east side of the house, Rafe and Brown the west. Crouching low, they moved forward, guns ready.

*****

  
  
Blair turned into the alley. Halfway up, he could see the only vehicle -- a dark van -- pulled up next to the fence that Blair was certain belonged to John Curtis. He lifted his foot from the brake and let the truck idle slowly forward --

*****

  
  
Jim waited, head cocked. He stood just outside the back door --

*****

  
  
The killer stared, mouth agape. Pillows. A mound of pillows.  
  
"NO!"  
  
At the same moment he screamed, the light in the bedroom came on. "FREEZE! CASCADE POLICE DEPARTMENT. YOU'RE UNDER ARREST!"  
  
The killer acted immediately, trusting in his God. He swept the blankets still held in his right hand sharply to the left and they struck the lamp, knocking it over. The room was plunged into darkness. To his left, a window. Without hesitation, he dove through it.

*****

  
  
Jim heard the frustrated 'NO!', followed by Wilson's yell telling the killer to freeze. Then a crash and no more light. Jim started in, but the sound of breaking glass stopped him. He yelled, "WILSON?"  
  
 **"HE WENT THROUGH THE WINDOW, JIM! EASTSIDE!"  
  
** Jim whirled about and ran down the back porch steps. He could hear footsteps, crunching leaves, heavy breathing, but it seemed to come from all around him. There was a strange noise and Jim ran to the east side of the house just in time to see a dark shape vaulting over the fence. At the same moment, Conner came around the corner followed closely by Taggert.  
  
"HE WENT OVER!" Jim yelled. When Conner nodded, Jim yelled again, "GO AROUND, I'LL TAKE THE FENCE!"  
  
Conner turned and she and Taggert took off, Taggert speaking quickly into his mike.  
  
Jim jumped up, grabbed the top of the fence and hauled himself up, then over. He dropped effortlessly down on the other side, then straightened, and listened.  
  
Running -- a gate -- the alley! Jim took off.

*****

  
  
Blair saw a gate open and a man in black run out. He'd heard the yelling and knew this was their guy. He gunned the engine and sped forward.

*****

  
  
The killer, hearing the noise of an accelerating engine, paused and look to his right. He saw a truck bearing down on him. He glanced to the left, to his van, then behind him. No time. He had no time. He moved into the center of the alley, facing the oncoming truck. He slipped his gun from the other pocket of his jacket.  
  
The gate he'd just exited creaked open. The killer never took his gaze from the oncoming vehicle as he straightened his arm out to his side and fired the gun three times. Then he brought his arm back to the front, grasped his right wrist with his left hand and took aim at the truck.  
  
As the vehicle bore down on him, he spread his legs and yelled, "THE LORD'S FOES SHALL BE SHATTERED! THE MOST HIGH IN HEAVEN THUNDERS; THE LORD JUDGES THE ENDS OF THE EARTH, NOW MAY HE GIVE STRENGTH TO HIS KING, AND EXALT THE HORN OF HIS ANOINTED!"  
  
At the same moment the killer squeezed the trigger, Blair turned on the headlights -- high beams.  
  
The killer screamed, dropped his gun, held up his hands to shield his eyes and a body launched itself across the space between the gate and the man. Both went down.

*****

  
  
Blair hit the brakes and the truck screeched to a stop. At the same moment, both Conner and Rafe entered the alley, followed closely by Brown and Taggert. A moment later, Jim stood, holding the killer by the neck of his black sweater.  
  
"Leopold Stearns, you're under arrest --"  
  
Someone needed to tell him why he was still sitting in the truck. Okay, he'd started to get out when Jim began reading Leopold Stearns his rights, but then Jim had looked up and fixed Blair with _that_ gaze and he'd immediately taken his hand from the door handle. Fuck, how did Jim and Simon always manage to make Blair feel like a teenaged truant?  
  
Other squad cars began sliding in behind, in front of, and next to the truck. Blair noticed that the neighbors, awakened by gunfire, yells and sirens, were spilling into the alley as well. Flashing, swirling lights struck worried, frightened faces, and Blair felt for them. Another van pulled into the alley and Sandburg grimaced. The news media had arrived.  
  
In the space of five minutes, no less than three networks and two newspapers were represented by cameras, lights and action. And as officers worked, forensics investigated, and famous field reporters spoke into cameras, Blair was more than glad that he _had_ remained in the truck. He'd managed to avoid the press in San Francisco and damn it, he would darn well do the same here. He could see one well-known Cascade reporter searching the crowd and Blair smiled.  
  
"Too bad, buddy, Elvis has left the building," he whispered to no one.  
  
At that moment, Blair caught sight of Simon's LHS as it pulled alongside the killer's van.  
  
Simon stepped out, pulled his collar up around his neck, then just as he lit his celebratory cigar, the press surrounded him. Blair watched as he answered questions, and he was pretty certain that Simon was informing them of a scheduled press conference, probably to be given by the Commissioner.  
  
As Blair watched the activity, yet another vehicle pulled into the alley and John Curtis got out, but remained standing by the side of his brother's car, uncertain, face drawn and pale. Simon spotted him and detached himself from the horde of reporters who, of course, followed as he approached the intended victim.  
  
Reporters immediately started firing questions at the accountant, who finally held up a shaking hand and ducked back into the car. The two men, shielding their faces from prying video cameras, drove away. John Curtis would not be sleeping in his home anytime soon, Blair thought sadly. But at least he was alive.  
  
While Forensics began the process of recovering the bullets fired by the killer, Blair thanked God for Jim's senses, thanked God that Jim had been able to hear the hammer being pulled back and thanked God that he'd quickly ducked down and to the side, while at the same time hissing out to the rest of the team to do likewise.  
  
Wilson, who'd played the part of John Curtis for the evening, had taken a swan dive from the porch at the same moment one of the bullets slammed into the wood -- instead of his head. The shot fired by Stearns at Blair had already been recovered.  
  
Sandburg once again considered getting out and joining Jim, but the damn reporters just weren't giving up. Okay, so like a good little boy, he'd wait.

*****

  
  
Blair noticed that things were finally quieting down as squad cars left, citizens went back to bed and the media moved their base of operation to headquarters. It looked as though the only people still left were the crime scene investigators, Simon and, of course, Jim and his team.  
  
Blair rested his head back against the seat and rubbed his eyes beneath the lenses of his glasses. He had a killer headache. He smiled wryly. Killer headache. Killer. Headache. He was just too funny. As his gaze drifted from Henri, to Megan, to Joel, then Simon and Jim, and finally Rafe and the others, he realized with a start that his time here in Cascade was over.  
  
His job done.  
  
In the last few hours, the future hadn't even been a consideration, but now it hit him like a ton of bricks. He lived in San Francisco. He now worked in San Francisco. Jim lived and worked in Cascade. And the Cascade Police Department most definitely had no place for Doctor Blair Sandburg. Then he smiled wryly. Hell, he thought, it's not like the two of them were gonna get married. So they'd have a long distance relationship, so what? Besides, if his past relationship with his mother was any indication, a long distance relationship might be his best bet. And hadn't Jim said that he'd -- never hang up?  
  
As Blair watched Joel and Conner peel away and head for their vehicle, followed by Rafe, Brown and Wilson, he was forced to admit that once he'd gone back to San Francisco, he'd probably fade from Jim's thoughts. Maybe it would be more gradual than all the others, but Blair _would_ fade.

*****

  
  
"It's over, Jim."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Simon nodded at the Ford. "He stayed in the truck. You suppose he learned that in San Francisco?"  
  
"He stayed in the truck because he knew that if he didn't, I'd kill him. But he _didn't_ keep the truck out on the street."  
  
Simon glanced around Jim at the truck, then back to his best -- and often most stupid -- detective. "Um, Jim. He isn't supposed to stay in the truck anymore. He gets paid _not_ to stay. He gets paid to actually get out of the truck."  
  
"He gets paid more than I do."  
  
"He probably gets paid more than I do, too, but you're missing the point."  
  
"He's in the truck now," Jim almost whined.  
  
"Yes, he most certainly is. He came up here to do a job, he did it, and while we bustled about, looking important, our highly-paid consultant, the man who solved how many murders? Stayed in the truck. What's wrong with this picture?"  
  
Jim ran a hand over his face. "I think I'm in deep shit."  
  
"Doubtful, Jim. Doubtful. He's probably chastising himself for _not_ staying on the street and incidentally physically stopping the killer from getting away. It hasn't missed my notice that his confidence level, now that he's back here with us upright, do-right cops of Cascade, is lower than low. Gosh, but we're good."  
  
Jim looked at his boss, his expression showing just how stunned he really was at the moment. "Simon?"  
  
"Look, I've got a few calls to make and you have one killer to interrogate and one hell of a report to write. Let's get the fuck out of this alley and head back to the relative sanity of the station." Simon moved backward a couple of steps, then said, "And you might give some thought to what happens next. Blair's boss will be expecting him back now."  
  
With that thought firmly planted in Jim's brain, Simon took his leave. As he climbed into his car, he thought that, as cowards go, he was tops in his field.

*****

  
  
Jim watched the taillights of Simon's car disappear. Waving to a few of the remaining technicians, he headed to the truck. As he came abreast, he touched the swirl of breaks that the bullet had left in his windshield. Man, he loved safety glass. Blair had already slid over to the passenger side, so as Jim climbed in, he smiled.  
  
"Not a bad night, eh?"  
  
"Nope, not bad at all."  
  
Jim drummed his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel, then he pointed to the damaged glass. "Close."  
  
"Nah. I ducked."  
  
"You're pretty good at that, Sandburg."  
  
"Take it to a whole new level."  
  
Jim started the truck and began to weave his way past the remaining vehicles in the alley. As he pulled out onto the street, he wondered why he felt so cold.

*****

  
  
Blair stood outside the interrogation room watching through the two-way mirror as Jim and Taggert talked with their killer. Simon stood next to him.  
  
"The most you can get me on is breaking and entering --"  
  
"And firing at police officers --" Jim supplied helpfully.  
  
"But I'm not a murderer."  
  
"You just happened to have this," Jim placed a clear bag with a syringe in it on the table next to the killer.  
  
"Well, yeah. I don't like my victims to wake up while I rob them. I'm a thief, and that's all you've got."  
  
"We've got more than that, Mr. Stearns. You were identified in San Francisco, remember? That's why the dye job." Jim indicated the man's short blond buzz cut. "We also have some terrific physical evidence that will place you at two crime scenes. You're gonna fry, Stearns."  
  
The killer simply raised his head and -- smiled. Serenely.  
  
Jim removed his foot from the chair he was resting it on and straightened. "Things will go easier if you confess."  
  
"I am confessing. I'm a burglar. You caught me red-handed."  
  
Next to Blair, Simon huffed. Then he walked to the door, opened it, stuck his head inside and motioned Jim out. Jim nodded at Joel, who sat down and continued the interrogation.  
  
"Simon?" Jim asked, as the door shut on Stearns and Joel.  
  
"He might just have us, Jim."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
Simon closed his eyes a moment, then opened them and said, "I just received Serena's report. No hair follicles. And the carpet samples are so generic that --"  
  
"Let me guess, even though they match our victims' rugs, they're so generic that a million homes, hotels and motels would match?"  
  
Simon nodded. "What we have, thanks to you, Sandburg, is our _thief_ in San Francisco, and that's it."  
  
Blair shook his head. "Not it, Simon. Come on, once we identified him, well, you have him in _each_ city where the murders occurred. You have his MO, which led us to catch him.  
  
"The coincidences are piling up. A blond hair that has been dyed and can be matched to his, via the product, the carpet samples don't rule him out, they just don't rule anyone else out either. But not everyone else happened to be in all four cities or --"  
  
Simon held up a hand. "I get it, Sandburg. I get it. But reasonable doubt and a good lawyer..." He turned to Jim. "Who did he call again?"  
  
"Benjamin Fairfield."  
  
Blair whistled. "Okay, that's not good."  
  
"No, it isn't. This guy could actually walk."  
  
"Simon, he _is_ confessing to being a burglar," Jim said. "We've got him on that."  
  
"First offense, Jim and he's confessing? What, he'll serve a few years then be back out on the street? And that's if he doesn't walk altogether."  
  
"So," Blair said as he looked from one to the other, "we get him to confess. Give me a few with him?"  
  
Simon looked at Jim, who shrugged. "He hasn't asked for his lawyer, nor has he refused to talk to us and he does seem to be in a confessing mood."  
  
"All right, Sandburg, he's all yours. Until he asks for Fairfield or Fairfield arrives and insists on seeing him."

*****

  
  
Blair stepped into the interrogation room, a styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. He sat down opposite Stearns and smiled sweetly. As Joel moved to the wall, Blair took a slow sip of his coffee, then putting it down, he said, "I'm Doctor Sandburg, Mr. Stearns, the sinner who identified you in San Francisco and forced you to leave early. May I say that I admire your work?"  
  
The man's eyes narrowed, but that was the only response.  
  
"I'm curious as to why God has abandoned you. How is it he allowed you to be caught, and not one of us fell under your wrath?"  
  
When Stearns said nothing, Blair went on, his expression one of sympathy. "You fired four times and not one bullet found its mark. Not one of us was struck down. I find that -- amazing. Is it that God has decided that you, like the rest of us, are a sinner also and thus no longer worthy of his protection?"  
  
"He has _not_ abandoned me."  
  
"I'm afraid he has. You failed tonight. You failed miserably. You failed in San Francisco and then you compounded your error by failing here. And we still stand. We are strong and you're in jail, Mr. Stearns. Oh, yes, he's given you over for judgment, sir."  
  
"You think you can judge me? You are black with sin, you swim in it. It has rotted your soul and you will perish by the sword of God."  
  
Blair sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Wielded by who? You've failed, so who is left?"  
  
Stearns leaned forward and, outside, both Simon and Jim did the same.  
  
"I have _not_ failed. You think you can destroy me? End my work? It cannot happen. I am his messenger and my work is not done. You _will_ perish."  
  
"I don't think so." Blair then leaned forward, his voice taking on an edge as he said quietly, "I have died -- and seen the other side. And I was returned. Do you understand?  
  
"I. Was. Returned. You failed, Stearns and you have been given up."  
  
At Blair's words, Stearns paled, his skin appearing to fold in on itself. But he rebounded. Eyes dark with fervor, he said, "He will guard the footsteps of his faithful one, but the wicked shall perish in the darkness --"  
  
Blair nodded. "First Samuel, chapter 2, verse 9. But you got it wrong. 'He will guard the footsteps of his faithful _ones_ '. But you know which verse **_I_** like? From Ezekiel, 'Son of man, I have made thee a watchman unto the house of Israel'." Blair leaned in again and his smile was cold. "How do you think you were caught, Stearns? How is it that every move was _seen_ , even in the dark? Your bullets avoided? And how was I brought back from death?"  
  
Blair's eyes softened and his voice became like velvet as he said, "From the Song of Solomon, chapter 3, verse 3 -- 'The Watchman found me, as he went about the city. Have you seen him, whom my soul loves?'"  
  
Stearns stood so suddenly that his chair flew backward, and before anyone could move, he launched himself across the table at the unprotected man.  
  
The minute Stearns dove across the table, several things happened. Joel pushed himself from the wall and reached for his gun, Jim and Simon rushed into the room and Blair calmly stood and stepped back.  
  
Stearns fell to the floor and landed on his face. As he lay panting, Joel holstered his gun and Simon and Jim skidded to a stop because Blair suddenly bent at the waist and said, "You can't touch me, Mr. Stearns. You can't touch anyone. It's over. God has left you in the dust and turned to his watchmen."  
  
Stearns started to move, but Jim was faster. He grabbed him by the collar, yanked him to his feet and planted him in the chair abandoned by Blair.  
  
"I took their lives and I will take more. You can't stop me," the killer spat out.  
  
"Oh, but we have stopped you," Blair taunted.  
  
Stearns shook his head. "No, no, no. Ten sinners have been sent on their journey, and more will follow. I will prevail."  
  
Blair titled his head and did a damn fine job of looking confused. "Ten? _Ten_? No, I don't think so. Only -- eight."  
  
Stearns started to stand, but Jim's hand on his shoulder pushed him back -- but didn't stop his tirade. He spent the next two minutes supplying them with every single victim. By name. And address. He then went into great detail on how.  
  
It was over.

*****

  
  
Jim stared at his blank computer screen, then glanced over at Blair, whose fingers were flying over the keyboard.  
  
"I hate you, Sandburg."  
  
"I finished mine ten minutes ago. I'm doing yours now."  
  
"Sandburg, I love you."  
  
"Yeah, I've heard _that_ before."  
  
As Blair typed, Jim sat back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "So, have you called your boss?"  
  
Blair nodded and kept typing.  
  
"When do you head back?"  
  
"Tomorrow. One in the afternoon."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
Blair finished Jim's report, clicked on the print icon and, while both reports were printing, he sat back and mirrored Jim's position.  
  
"Tired?"  
  
Blair nodded. "Yeah. Ducking takes a lot out of a man."  
  
"Know the feeling." Jim leaned over and, placing one hand on Blair's chair, said huskily, "Your place or mine?"  
  
Blair smiled. "Mine. 852 Prospect is fine, but The Strand is better. Plus -- a sunken tub."  
  
Jim was up, had Blair's jacket and was holding it out before the last page of his report popped out of the printer.  
  
Blair took the offered coat and, while Jim grabbed both their reports and slid them into Simon's basket, Blair waited, a half smile on his face.  
  
As the two men headed out, Conner looked up from her half-finished report and said, "I really hate you, Sandy."  
  
Blair waved and said, "I can live with that, Megan. I refuse to do anyone else's reports. Jim's are bad enough."  
  
"Good point." She stood and walked over to him. "You will be here tomorrow, right? I mean, you're not flying home immediately, are you?"  
  
"I take off at one so I thought I'd stop by here first, say goodbye." He was smiling and his words were light, but his eyes were shuttered.  
  
Megan's gaze flicked up to Jim, then back to Blair. "Oh. I see." She glanced back at Simon's darkened office. "Well, make sure you do, Sandy. Please."  
  
"I will, don't worry. See you tomorrow."  
  
She started to move in, perhaps to hug him, but then she smiled, stepped back and watched as the two men walked out.

*****

  
  
"What do you mean Blair's gone?" Rafe said in disbelief.  
  
"He and Jim finished their reports and left," Megan said, her voice tired.  
  
Rafe shook his head as Joel found his gaze drawn to Simon's office. Brown glared at Jim's empty desk.  
  
"And you're saying his flight leaves when?" Joel asked, eyes still glued to Simon's office.  
  
"One. He's coming here first -- to say goodbye."  
  
"But he's only been here --" Rafe started to protest, but Megan interrupted.  
  
"We caught the guy, Rafe. Blair's job is done."  
  
"This sucks," Brown commented dourly. "It was like it should be, we were all a great team again."  
  
"H, things change," Megan reminded. "No matter how much we'd like things back the way they were --"  
  
"This isn't about change," Joel interjected. "This is about what's right, about balance."  
  
He glanced at each of his friends, then with voice slightly lowered, said, "There are things at work here that we don't understand, and while I wasn't at the fountain when... look, Blair came back. Something happened that morning at Rainier, something that enabled Jim to do the impossible and -- Blair came back. This is about who Jim is and Blair's place within the miracle that is Jim. I also believe that we're a part of it too. And I'm know I'm not making much sense --"  
  
"Yes, you are," Megan said. "You're making perfect sense. It's about the tribe, and -- well, Jim and Blair belong together, we all _know_ that. And they belong here. They belong _here_."  
  
"So what do we do?" Henri asked.  
  
Megan glanced at Joel, who smiled. "I suspect," he said, "that Simon might be handling that. I say we trust in our Captain."

*****

  
  
"You know, I think Officer Sheldon is pissed at me. I do believe she wanted to drive you all over the city."  
  
Blair smiled in the darkness but said nothing.  
  
"So. A sunken tub?"  
  
"Mmm. Kingsize bed, too."  
  
They finished the rest of the drive to The Strand in silence. When Jim finally pulled into the long circular drive that led to the front doors of one of the most expensive hotels in Cascade, he paused before turning off the engine.  
  
"Chief --"  
  
"Not here, Jim. Let's just go up."  
  
"Right."  
  
Jim left the key in the ignition and took the valet stub from a man in a red vest, then followed Blair inside the large, ornate lobby. Blair walked over to the registration desk and asked the young woman if he had any messages. She checked her computer, then looked up and smiled. "Not for you, Dr. Sandburg, but there is a message here for a Detective Ellison?"  
  
Jim stepped up and said, "I'm Detective Ellison."  
  
"You're to call a Captain Simon Banks, Detective. If you'd like, you may use the red courtesy phone behind you."  
  
Jim glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "Thank you." Then he looked at Sandburg, who shrugged and said, "Go ahead. He might need us back at the station."  
  
Jim shook his head. "Nah, if it were really that important, he'd have called me on the cell. I'll call him later." Jim smiled and took Blair's elbow. "I'm starved, I'm tired and," he leaned in and added quietly, "I'm horny. Let's go."  
  
"Okay, if you're certain --"  
  
"Chief? Shut up and stop worrying."  
  
"I can do that."

*****

  
  
"Holy shit." Jim stood in the middle of the large room and surveyed the opulence. "This is incredible. I can't believe the city paid for this."  
  
"Neither can I. Hell, you used to have trouble just getting snitch money back from them."  
  
Jim chuckled, then picked up the phone and, after looking over the menu card next to it, he punched in two numbers.  
  
"Uh, Jim?"  
  
"Room service. Food. Drink."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Jim looked pointedly at Blair and added, "You could shed a few items of clothes, Chief."  
  
Eyebrow arched, Blair toed off -- one -- shoe.  
  
Jim was about to come back with a brilliant retort when someone answered the phone.  
  
"Yes, I'd like an order delivered to room," he glanced at the phone, "404. Yes, one bottle of your best champagne, the fruit and cheese platter, the seafood appetizer and one raspberry chocolate soufflé. Yes, and just have the waiter knock, then leave the table out in the hall. Thank you."  
  
Jim hung up and turned to face Sandburg. "Still dressed, I see?"  
  
"Um, fruit and cheese platter? Champagne? The seafood appetizer? A soufflé?" His voice had risen at each item of food.  
  
"Hey, we have a lot to celebrate and besides, don't they always say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach? I'm just hedging my bets, Chief." Then he lowered his voice and as his eyes darkened, he murmured, "Isn't the raspberry chocolate soufflé worth at least the other shoe, Blair?"  
  
Blair toed off the other shoe, then sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs. He smiled brilliantly.  
  
"The seafood appetizer?" Jim asked winningly.  
  
Blair unbuttoned his green shirt and slipped it off.  
  
Jim closed his eyes, then whispered, "That fruit and cheese platter sounded pretty awesome. Kiwi, pineapple, mangos, pears, strawberries --"  
  
Blair stood and unzipped his jeans, then sat back down.  
  
Jim groaned. "Come on, Chief, you know what they say about strawberries and champagne."  
  
"Strawberries bring out the flavor. That's what they say, Jim."  
  
"Chief?"  
  
Blair gave a little _~umph~_ sound and promptly bent over and took off one sock.  
  
"I requested the _best_ champagne, Sandburg."  
  
The other sock was removed. As Jim gazed at his partner, he had to admit that nothing could be sexier than Blair Sandburg, shirtless, shoeless, sockless and with a lowered zipper that promised so much --  
  
"Did you happen to notice earlier today, that the seafood appetizer has crab, langoustines shrimp _and_ lobster?"  
  
Blair drummed his fingers on his thigh and considered the latest food information. "Lobster?"  
  
"Lobster, Chief."  
  
"Mmm. What kind of dipping sauce?"  
  
Jim nearly ran back to the desk to pick up the room service menu. "Um, says here, cocktail sauce and a lemon aioli."  
  
"That sounds terrific."  
  
Jim turned and asked hopefully, "How good, Chief?"  
  
"I'm thinking..." He took off his watch, dangled it from one finger, then let it fall with a soft thud to the thick carpet below.  
  
"You're killing me here, Chief."  
  
"You? Nah. Big tough detective. Ex-Ranger. Will-power up the yin-yang, nerves of steel, can withstand any torture known to man without breaking a sweat --"  
  
"Sandburg, in case it's missed your notice, I'm sweating here." For effect, he wiped his brow and upper lip.  
  
"So brave."  
  
"Aw, at least give me the tie, okay?"  
  
Blair reached up slowly and pulled his hair tie.  
  
"You could --"  
  
"No, Jim. _You_ could."  
  
Eyes glittering dangerously, Jim moved to stand before the seated man. He leaned down and, licking his lips, started to thread his fingers through the tangled mass slowly, over and over again until Blair's face was nicely framed by waves of soft brown hair. "God, Chief, you're unbelievable."  
  
Blair looked up at Jim and frowned. Jim brushed his lips against the creased brow, then moved over and planted a kiss on Blair's temple. "We'll work it out, Chief. We'll work it out."  
  
"I know. Long weekends. Expensive phone calls due to incredible phone sex, holidays, vacations --"  
  
Mouth a few centimeters from Blair's, Jim whispered, "I wouldn't mind applying with the SFPD. Move in with you --"  
  
"And Naomi --"  
  
"And Nao--" Jim straightened. "Huh?"  
  
"Mom lives with me, Jim."  
  
Jim blinked.  
  
Grinning, Blair explained. "I don't believe it either, but when I was accepted by the SFPD, she came out with me and helped me find a place, then sort of -- stayed."  
  
"Well I'll be damned."  
  
All of Jim's words must have finally hit Blair because he suddenly sputtered out, "Wa -- wait, wait. You'd -- quit Major -- Crime? You'd come -- to --"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You can't do that, Jim. You can't. Cascade, you, Sentinel of the Great City, you know?"  
  
"I can, and San Francisco is a pretty great city and I'm thinking, since we've been so immersed in Bible verses and since Stearns found no use for the book of Ruth -- maybe I can."  
  
In a voice low and gentle, full of emotion and love, Jim quoted, "Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you. Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die; there will I be buried.  
  
"May the Lord do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you."  
  
Blair blinked several times, his mouth opening and closing like a nest of baby birds waiting for the morning worm from mom and dad. Then he sat back and said in a shaky voice, "Holy shit."  
  
"Chief? You okay?"  
  
Blair shook his head. "No, I'm not."  
  
"I won't let you get away from me again, Chief. It's that simple. It's you and me -- all the way."  
  
"No one has ever -- I mean, _no_ _one_."  
  
Jim took Blair's hand and pulled him out of the chair and into his arms. "I love you, Blair Sandburg, and we waste no more time, understood?"  
  
Blair couldn't say anything; he was too stunned. Jim decided that in spite of Blair's near-nakedness, he had something else to say. He cleared his throat and after running a finger along Blair's jaw, said, "I'm sorry about tonight. I kind -- of -- slipped. Forgot myself and... well... dammit." Then in a rush, he said "You shouldn't have stayed in the truck and I should never have told you to stay on the street while I went creeping around backyards."  
  
"It's okay," Blair started to say, his face turning a cute shade of red.  
  
"No it wasn't. You're -- you're..." Jim stopped and sighed. "Fuck. The truth is, you've always been an expert that we listened to. But you were also a civilian under my protection.  
  
But now, now --"  
  
"I'm still not a cop, Jim. Exactly."  
  
"Yes you are. That's my point, I think. You've been a cop, in a way, from day one. You just didn't have the official backing of the force. Now you do. Now you're a cop, but with a difference. You're a doctor cop," he finished with a grin.  
  
"I'm a civilian doctor cop."  
  
"Who can carry, but doesn't."  
  
"Right."  
  
"You do know that it was never because I didn't see you as an equal -- you do know that, right? I just couldn't let anything happen to you." Jim could see by Blair's expression that he _hadn't_ known. He closed his eyes and groaned. "Aw, God, Chief, I'm so sorry."  
  
"Would you stop saying that? Where it counted, in the street, down and dirty with the criminals, I _wasn't_ your equal. But I learned. And we listened to each other, learned from each other. _You_ were the professional, Jim, the expert in law enforcement. That's a simple fact."  
  
"God, I love you."  
  
"Right back at'cha, Jim."  
  
They leaned into each other and just as their lips were about to meet, Jim pulled back with a hiss. "The food is here. Damn it."  
  
With a hand sliding over Jim's abs, Blair murmured almost absently, "You know, food isn't the way to a man's -- stomach -- at all. At least not this man. But it's a damn fine way to my ass."  
  
"Yes, well. I think I'll go get that food then."  
  
"You do that, Jim."

*****

  
  
Candlelight flickered on the cream-colored walls of the bathroom and Debussy floated out from a small, unobtrusive speaker a few feet above the sunken tub. On the floor sat the remains of the food Jim had rescued from the hall and next to Jim's arm sat the half-empty bottle of champagne. Steam rose up from the startlingly blue water.  
  
Eyes closed and head resting against an attached wall cushion, Jim asked, "How do they get the water this blue? It's plain bath water, right?"  
  
Blair nodded, his headrest being Jim's chest. "They put these small plastic containers just inside the faucet that contain a harmless chemical that turns the water --"  
  
"Caribbean blue."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"The color of your eyes. Nice," Jim mused dreamily.  
  
Blair opened said eyes and twisted his head around to better look at his tub support. "I swear, I don't know you at all."  
  
Jim smiled and tightened his grip on the man in his arms. "I'm the me you've always known, loved and lusted after, but at the moment, I'm also _very_ relaxed, well-fed, and I'm wearing that lovely champagne aura that reminds me a bit of how the world looked under the influence of golden. _And_ , when we get out of here, I still have --"  
  
"A chocolate raspberry soufflé to look forward to," Blair supplied for him with a grin.  
  
"Mmm, that too." Jim bent his head, nudged damp hair aside and promptly buried his nose in Blair's wet and warm neck. "Love you."  
  
Blair smiled as, underwater, he ran his right hand over Jim's hip and down his thigh.  
  
"I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that -- or saying it."  
  
Jim bit gently, then whispered, "Say it. Say it now."  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Blair murmured, "Love you, Jim. Love you."  
  
Jim reached over and snagged a mango slice, then brought it up and ran it lightly over Blair's lips. Blair grinned, opened his mouth slightly, let his tongue curl around the fruit, then sucked it in. Before Jim could lower his arm though, Blair reached up and wrapped his fingers around the older man's wrist. He swallowed the fruit then took the two fingers that had held the mango and suckled them.  
  
"Aw, God, Blair."  
  
Blair shifted in the water so that Jim's interested cock rested between his ass cheeks, then letting Jim's fingers slip from his mouth, he said, "More."  
  
Another piece of fruit, this time kiwi, was captured and held against hungry lips. Blair flicked out his tongue, licked greedily, then took the fruit. After swallowing, he once more took the two fingers and sucked the juice from them. This time when he was done, he took Jim's hand and guided it under water to where his ass met Jim's dick.  
  
"I think you know what to do, Jim."  
  
"Blair --"  
  
Sandburg twisted slightly and stopped Jim's words with a kiss. Then caressing the corner of Jim's mouth with his lips, he said, "You _know_ what to do."  
  
"God, yes," Jim breathed out. He stroked Blair's ass, palmed one globe, the slipped his fingers between the two cheeks. He teased, knowing that the water flowing in and out would only serve to heighten the sensation for Blair.  
  
"Use the attachment, Jim --"  
  
Jim's eyes widened even as his left hand reached up, unhooked the nozzle and brought it under the water. His own breathing quickened as he flicked a knob on the tub faucet, then turned the handle. He felt the jet of pulsating water next to his leg and a second later, Blair's hand closed once more around Jim's wrist. A tug and Jim was guiding the stream of water to Blair's ass.  
  
The sensation was incredible -- for both men.  
  
The water churned around the pulsing attachment and Jim's dick jumped to attention. As he brought it closer, rested it against Blair's anus, the younger man thrust up, then came down hard enough to send a small wave cascading over the edge of the large tub.  
  
"Na--rrow, the stream, Jim," Blair gasped out.  
  
Jim did as instructed, his fingers turning the dial. Blue water frothed white as Blair arched again, his hands now gripping Jim's legs. "God, yes, feels so good, but not good enough, Jim. Not good enough --"  
  
Jim dialed it up once more, pressed the apparatus against skin, Sentinel sensitive fingers assuring proper placement. Steam rose, the water churned and Blair rode the powerful jet of water, his head moving from side to side, small moans of pleasure escaping every few seconds.  
  
The movement of Blair's body, combined with the swirling water, was having a profound effect on Jim's dick and his own moans soon joined Blair's.  
  
Finally, Blair managed to gasp out, "You, Jim. You now --" then he turned in the tub, took the nozzle from Jim's fingers and turned it off. He reached across Jim's body, allowing his stiff cock to bounce against Jim's stomach, and replaced the apparatus in its hook. Smiling down at Jim, he took Jim's face between his hands and kissed him long and deep. When he was done, he murmured against Jim's neck, "Spread 'em, cowboy."  
  
Jim smiled and did as told. Blair wiggled and shifted but the tub was slippery and finally Jim had to grasp his hips to help steady him. Then Blair lowered himself...  
  
"Ahhh, yes, much better than a shower attachment --" Blair smiled, his eyes closing.  
  
He moved gently down, pausing every few seconds, then down again until he'd taken all of Jim inside.  
  
"Shit, Chief -- I, this is --"  
  
"Ssh." Blair placed a finger against Jim's lips. Then rose slightly before coming back down. "Best let some of the water out, cowboy, or we're gonna flood the place."  
  
"I'm -- don't think --"  
  
Blair grinned and reached back to flip the lever that would open the drain. He held his position, which took considerable strength, but the look on Jim's face was worth it. When the water had gone down by half, he closed the drain with a happy sigh, then rose up, paused, ran a finger over Jim's tensed jaw, then back down again -- all the way.  
  
Water sloshed, but didn't overflow in spite of Jim's sudden jerk and upward thrust. From that point on, Blair kept it slow and gentle, rising and falling, shifting enough to let Jim's dick strike his prostate. The water retained its warmth and Blair felt the sweat trickling down his face as hair fell into his eyes and his fingers gripped Jim's arms.  
  
"Ahh, God, Blair," Jim ground out. His head was back, legs apart but slightly bent to support Blair, hands still gripping Sandburg's hips tightly. "So good --"  
  
"Mmm --" Blair squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his muscles around Jim as he moved down, Jim's balls coming to rest against his ass.  
  
"GOD!" Jim thrust up hard and Blair clenched again and, as fingernails bit into the flesh of his hips, Jim came.

*****

  
  
The water settled and Jim realized that it was starting to get cold. He cracked open one eye and found Blair had fallen forward and now rested completely against Jim, Blair's head on his shoulder. The tremors coursing through Sandburg told Jim that their orgasms must have come close on the heels of each other, and yet, Jim hadn't touched Blair's cock.  
  
Wrapping one arm around his love, he leaned forward enough to reach the water faucet and turned it on, then he fell back, Blair still in his arms.  
  
Warm water once again filled the tub and Jim sighed contentedly as he settled back against his cushion. Blair moved slightly and with a start, Jim realized that he was still inside the younger man. He smiled and made no move to change that.

*****

  
  
"Prunes."  
  
"Wha'?" Jim asked groggily.  
  
"Prunes," Blair mumbled again.  
  
"Kiwi, strawberries, mangos, but no prunes, Chief."  
  
"No," Blair lifted his head from Jim's shoulder and grinned lopsidedly, "No, _we're_ gonna look like prunes if we don't get out of here. And it has to be almost sunrise, Jim."  
  
"Ah. Prunes. Gotcha." But he made no effort to move.  
  
"Sunrise. On the balcony. Wouldn't you like to see it? Then get _some_ sleep before I go to the station and say goodbye?"  
  
"Sleep in here," Jim mumbled.  
  
"Sleep in a nice, warm, comfortable bed. With the city spread out before us --"  
  
Grudgingly, Jim lifted his head and opened his eyes. He found Blair smiling at him, his face inches away. He kissed him. When they parted, he nodded. "Okay, you win. We get out of the tub."  
  
Somehow they managed to do just that, in spite of their positions, the food tray and the champagne bottle. Finally, wrapped in huge thick towels, they padded out into the room and over to the balcony.  
  
Together and now sharing one gigantic towel, they watched the sunrise over Cascade. When the last pink and orange ray had all but disappeared, they closed the drapes, Blair set the alarm and they tumbled into bed, towel discarded. They spent a couple of minutes getting situated, finding just the right way to share their sleep -- namely spooned, Jim behind Blair -- before finally drifting off.

*****

  
  
He fumbled around, fingers searching until he connected with his glasses. He shoved them on and checked the clock. Thirty minutes until the alarm was scheduled to go off. Blair settled back in Jim's sleeping embrace. Thirty minutes. Then they'd be getting up, getting dressed, snatching a quick breakfast downstairs, then the station and saying goodbye --  
  
Blair swallowed the lump in his throat, took off his glasses and let them drop to the floor. For two days his life had been perfect. So perfect that any fool would know they'd have to end. Perfect was not a sustainable possibility for Blair Sandburg. Although -- it wasn't as if his life in San Francisco was bad; it wasn't. Bill Russell had proven to be a good friend and the city was wonderful. His relationship with his mother was taking a turn into the Sandburg zone and that was AOK with him. He was actually getting to know her. But -- But -- none of it was Jim. Or Simon. Or Joel. Or -- Jim.  
  
Blair felt the heat of emotion warm his face and the tensing of his muscles as sadness overwhelmed him. He knew Jim couldn't leave Cascade, which meant that Blair would have to prepare himself. It might take weeks, even months, but he _needed_ to be ready for the inevitable. For the calls interrupted and Jim having to hang up, and for the calls finally not returned. For the weekends cancelled. The promises fading.  
  
 _You could move back,_ a voice said in his head.  
  
 _And do what?_ he asked in return.  
  
 _Does it matter?  
  
Yes_.  
  
Yes, it mattered. Love was great, love with Jim was better. But Blair had to _be_ somebody; otherwise no love could or would survive. He had to be doing what he'd finally learned was his vocation. And that wasn't going to happen in Cascade. How long would Jim love or respect him if he stayed and ended up -- doing what? He supposed he could go back to Rainier. Teach.  
  
Go for tenure. He shivered at that thought. There was no worse politics in the world than those at a large university. He'd be miserable. No, that wasn't the answer. Nor was Jim coming to San Francisco.  
  
Sentinels might often be separated from the very tribe they protected in the jungle, but not so with an urban Sentinel. An urban Sentinel, Blair had realized many years ago, needed a support network. Not just that person who protected their back, kept them focused, but others as well. And here, in Cascade, with Major Crime and Simon Banks, Jim had that. It was part and parcel of Jim's success and ability to function. He needed them as much as they needed him, for as long as he continued as The Sentinel of the Great City.  
  
Blair closed his eyes. He'd take whatever time with Jim he was given. He had no choice. And if Jim really gave thought to moving, Blair would break it off -- for Jim's sake.  
  
Ten minutes later, the alarm went off. It was time to say goodbye.

*****

  
  
"Look, all I'm saying is that we give it a try. Give it a few months, okay, Jim?"  
  
Jim chewed his bacon and stared at his partner. He swallowed and said, "I don't believe you, Sandburg."  
  
"Jim --"  
  
"I _want_ to come with you, God damn it. What's your problem?"  
  
"We can do this, Jim. And do you really want to start over? With no one knowing the truth except you and I? Do you really want that?" Before Jim could answer, Blair hurried on. "You _need_ the support Simon can give you, hell, that the entire squad can give you. You love Cascade, Jim. That's why you returned after Peru. Don't you get that? This is your city, your tribe."  
  
"And us?"  
  
"Like I said, we give it a try. If it doesn't work..." he looked down at his plate of uneaten food, "... I'll come back here. Maybe try for something at Rainier." Then he glanced back up, proud that his lie had been controlled. "We just give it a try, okay? No major decisions right now."  
  
"We'll give it -- two months. But that's it."  
  
Blair smiled knowingly. "Fine, two months." He doubted it would take that long for Jim to stop returning calls.  
  
Jim nodded at Blair's plate. "You haven't touched a bite. Eat."  
  
"Hey, I ate the entire soufflé less than an hour ago. I shouldn't have ordered this."  
  
"You boxed up the soufflé and it's in your suitcase. Now eat."  
  
"Damn. I really hate Sentinels."  
  
Jim smiled and said, "Liar."

*****

  
  
Jim sniffed, then smiled. Flowers. And he could hear the entire gang getting ready. He glanced down at Blair, who was staring up at the elevator floorboard. He was about to be one surprised loaned-out consultant.  
  
The doors slid open and Jim stepped out, making sure his body blocked most of Blair's view. He pushed through the double doors leading into Major Crime, then grinning, stepped aside so that Blair could get the full view.  
  
Blair moved in, looked up and gasped. The whole squad room was filled with flowers and balloons, and above Simon's door hung a huge sign that read, 'WE'LL MISS YOU, CHIEF!'"  
  
The detectives of Major Crime stood beneath it, Simon standing in the middle, all smiling. Blair's breath hitched a bit, then he grinned and stepped toward his friends.

*****

  
  
Jim looked worriedly over at Simon's office. The man had been called to the phone over fifteen minutes earlier and was still at his desk, phone glued to his ear. And while Simon stuck on the phone was no big deal normally, it was at the moment. Jim checked his watch again. Damn. He'd have to get Blair out of here in the next few minutes or he'd miss his flight.  
  
The mood in the squad room was odd and it was clearly affecting Jim, who felt his anger growing. He tore his gaze away from Simon and looked around the bullpen at his friends. They were gathered around Blair, but there was an edge to the party atmosphere and it was this edge that was contributing to Jim's anger.  
  
No one wanted Blair to leave. So why the hell was he going?  
  
Nothing was as it should be -- nothing. Jim got up and started toward Blair and the others, but something held him back and he paused, then perched on the edge of his desk. Blair was gesturing wilding, sharing some story from his cases in San Francisco and everyone was smiling, interested, leaning in, hands reaching, then abruptly pulling back.  
  
Something weird was going on.  
  
Jim looked around the room. Everything looked normal, yet -- fuck, what the hell? What was wrong? Besides the fact that Blair was about to disappear from their midst. Could it be that his fellow detectives felt the wrongness of Blair leaving as much he did? Felt the -- imbalance?  
  
Jim was still puzzling over the mystery when Simon finally opened the door to his office. Jim turned, found Simon checking _his_ watch, then ignoring Jim, said, "Sandburg? Can I speak with you a moment?"  
  
Blair, clearly surprised, detached himself from his friends and started walking toward Simon's office, his questioning gaze on Jim, who found that he could do nothing but shrug as he stood, prepared to follow Blair into Simon's office.  
  
As Blair entered the office, Simon said, "Rafe, turn on the set in the break-room, please. We're about to be forced to watch some announcement on the news. Let me know when the cameras go to City Hall, okay?"  
  
Rafe, puzzled, nodded and headed for the break room. Simon then shot a warning glance at Jim and said, "Give me a few with him, all right?"  
  
Jim sat back down. "Sure, Simon. Sure." Then he pointed to his watch. "But we've only got --"  
  
"I know, I know. We won't be long." Then Simon closed the door.  
  
Jim gazed over at Joel and Megan who both jerked thumbs at the break-room. Feeling helpless, Jim got back up and followed them.

*****

  
  
"Sit down, Sandburg."  
  
Blair moved to the chair Simon had pulled up, sat down, then -- with a worried little frown -- waited.  
  
Simon futzed around with his coffee mug, filling it with cold coffee, then adding sugar and creamer before finally sitting down. He spent a moment mixing the brew, his eyes fastened on the red and white stirrer.  
  
Blair cleared his throat and said, "When did you start taking cream with your coffee, Sir?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You put creamer in your coffee."  
  
Looking surprised, Simon said, "I did?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Two heaping teaspoons full."  
  
Simon took a tentative sip, then scrunched up his face. "Damn, I did." He set the mug down and shoved it as far from him as he could.  
  
"Sir, you didn't need to sip any of it. The color --"  
  
"Why don't you stay?"  
  
Blair blinked back at Simon, then did a classic double-take. "Sir?"  
  
"Why don't you stay? Jim needs you, Sandburg."  
  
Blair stood, uncertain of his emotions, but certain that he didn't want to stay in Simon's office. "Simon, Jim has done fine without me for a year. And we'll be -- I mean, we're... friends, Simon. We've -- we're okay. We'll talk on the phone, do some fishing together, we're _friends_ again. We're okay."  
  
"I see. So why won't you stay?"  
  
"Simon, there isn't anything here -- I mean," he rubbed his chin, then said, "Look, Simon. I enjoy my work as a consultant. I think it was what I was meant to do, and we both know I can't do it here."  
  
Blair looked at the man who meant almost as much to him as Jim, then gave himself a mental shake. "Look, I need to get to the airport, Simon. It's been good seeing you again and working with you."  
  
When Simon continued to sit and stare at his desk, Blair put the chair back at the table and walked to the door. His hand was turning the knob when Simon groaned. Blair turned, concern flaring in his eyes. "Simon? You okay?"  
  
The older man took off his glasses and pressed his fingers against his closed eyes. "Sandburg, I've always been great at giving others advice but lousy at taking it." He put his glasses back on and stood. "You know, when Jim first started working with Major Crime, I often considered locking my gun up for fear of using it on him. We grated on each other's nerves. Now I know why. Two peas, you know?"  
  
Simon moved from around his desk and walked to Blair. Standing only a couple of feet away, he said, "I think it has to do with size, you know?"  
  
"Simon?" Blair asked, confused.  
  
"The taller the man, the less able to string two emotional sentences together."  
  
"Ah. Then how do you explain Joel?"  
  
Simon snorted. "He's an aberration. A bane to tall silent, stoic men everywhere. We drummed him out of the TSM Corps years ago."  
  
"TSM?"  
  
"Tall Stoic Men's Corps."  
  
"I see. And short men?"  
  
"Ah. Short men. They have no difficulty saying what they feel. They're smarter, see?"  
  
"Well, it is true that the higher the elevation, the thinner the air."  
  
"Exactly. Thin air."  
  
Blair smiled, his eyes warming. "It's okay, Simon. I get it." Then he put out a hand.  
  
Simon stared at the offered hand and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I owe you something else." He reached out, snagged Blair's sleeve and pulled the man into a hug.  
  
For a moment, Blair couldn't move. Then slowly, he hugged back. God, he was going to miss this man. His emotions high, it took Blair a moment to realize that Simon was talking. Still hugging -- hard, but now, also talking.  
  
"I should have told you years ago, Blair. You were the best thing that ever happened to Major Crime. Just don't tell Conner that. She thinks _she_ was."  
  
His face plastered to Simon's chest, Blair mumbled, "Right sir."  
  
Finally Simon let go and Blair stepped back, knowing that his face was red. He coughed a bit, then started to open the door.  
  
"If Daryl grows up to be half the man you are, I'll be happy."  
  
Blair's breath caught in his throat and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. "Thank you, Simon," he finally managed to say. He opened the door and stepped out just as Rafe poked his head out the break-room door saying, "Sir, it's the Commissioner. He's giving a press conference. Is this it?"  
  
"That's it, Rafe." Simon cleared his own throat and placing a hand on Blair's back, said, "You might be interested in this, Blair." Then giving him no choice, he guided him into the room where the other detectives were gathered.  
  
"Turn it up, Rafe," Simon asked as he and Blair took their places next to Jim.  
  
The volume was increased just as Commissioner Willard held up his hands and started talking.  
  
"As most of you know, the Cascade Police Department recently stopped a serial killer who had terrorized two states and four cities. Captain Simon Banks and his team in Major Crime were a primary reason for our success in capturing a man that had, up to then, eluded authorities in Los Angeles, Sacramento and San Francisco."  
  
Several reporters started shooting questions, but Willard held up his hands again. When it quieted, he went on.  
  
"The San Francisco Police Department came the closest to catching the man responsible for, at that time, eight deaths. Thanks to a program instituted by the SFPD, they were fortunate to have on board a scientist, a cultural anthropologist to be exact, who served in the capacity of official consultant to the SFPD's Special Crimes Unit. This Doctor was the only one who was able to put together an adequate profile that aided in identifying the killer.  
  
"Unfortunately, the killer left San Francisco before he could be caught. And as you all know, Cascade became his next target. When we realized that we were dealing with the same killer that had terrorized three other cities, I immediately called San Francisco and requested that the man who had been able to identify the killer, be loaned out to our own Major Crime. Fortunately for all of us, the SFPD agreed and Doctor Blair Sandburg was sent here to assist us."  
  
The flashbulbs went off rapidly as Willard gave the name of the 'expert' and the man had to stop for a moment. Which gave everyone in the lounge a chance to look at Blair and grin, or give him a thumb's up. The man in question was staring at the screen, red-faced and horrified. But before anyone could say anything, Willard started speaking again.  
  
"Doctor Sandburg's assistance proved to be invaluable, and Major Crime was able, not only to predict the next possible target of the killer, but to capture the man. As a result of the excellent teamwork between our detectives and a civilian expert, I have become convinced that cities like San Francisco, Los Angeles, Boston, New York and Philadelphia -- all cities with special consultants on the payroll -- are on the right track and that we, here in Cascade, can do no less.  
  
"With that in mind, it is with great pleasure that I announce that as of now, the Cascade Police Department will embark upon a new program that will utilize civilians, like Doctor Sandburg, in the same capacity as the other cities I have mentioned. We have the Mayor's full cooperation in this new endeavor and I'm certain that one of the finest police forces in America will soon become even greater. Thank you."  
  
Simon stepped forward, reached up and shut off the set. Then he turned to face Blair.  
  
"Commissioner Willard wanted to announce that he'd already secured the first member of this new program, but I told him that might be unfair to Captain Lyons. That our newest consultant might prefer telling his boss personally, rather than letting the man hear it on the news. Was I right, Blair?"  
  
For a moment, Blair found himself speechless. He could only stare at Simon, mouth agape. Next to him, Jim was in a similar position.  
  
"Of course, the offer will be far superior to what the SFPD is doing for you. And I've already been given assurances by the Commissioner that you will be assigned to Major Crime. My only decision is trying to decide which of my great detectives to assign to you. So many choices," Simon finished with a smile.  
  
Everyone held their breath as all eyes gravitated to Blair. Who was trying to catch _his_ breath.  
  
"Blair? You could put me out of my misery and say yes," Simon suggested, voice low and easy.  
  
"I -- I --"  
  
"He says yes, Simon," Jim finished for the tongue-tied younger man.  
  
Blair waved a hand around and said haltingly, "You knew -- in -- your -- office?"  
  
Simon nodded. "That phone call I had to take? Commissioner Willard calling from City Hall. He'd just arranged the press conference after finishing with the Mayor. I had to do some quick talking to get him to back off on announcing that you'd taken the offer, especially since you'd never seen any offer."  
  
Then Simon crossed his arms over his chest and said gruffly, "Jim can't answer for you, Sandburg, as much as he might want to. No, I need to hear it from you. And the city will pick up the tab for your move. Did I mention that?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
Everyone gasped, then started talking at once --  
  
"Why? We need you, Sandy!"  
  
"You CAN'T say no, Sandburg! You're our main man!"  
  
"Blair, you can't mean that!"  
  
Sandburg held up his hands and laughing, said, "No, I mean, no, Simon hadn't mentioned the tab -- for the move -- home. Of course I'm gonna say yes. What, you think I'm an idiot?"  
  
The next instant saw their new consultant surrounded by bodies. Jim stepped out of the way and moved to stand next to Simon. The grin he sported threatened to split his face apart.  
  
It was matched by Simon's.  
  
"Sir, you done good."  
  
Simon rocked back on his heels and nodded happily. "Yeah, I did. But it was close, Jim. So close. The Mayor was really hedging, but Willard came through for us."  
  
The two men watched the celebration, both with arms crossed over their chests. Finally Jim turned to Simon and said, "You do realize that the Sandburg zone is about to be a permanent fixture, right? We're trapped now."  
  
"Yep. But I'm not as trapped as you are, Ellison. If you know what I mean?"  
  
Looking back at the smiling Sandburg, Jim said softly, "I pity you, Simon. You don't know what you're missing."  
  
"And I'll happily keep it that way, Detective."

*****

  
  
"This is not going to work, Jim. This is _so_ not going to work."  
  
Fortunately the signal ahead went red, which kept Jim from slamming on the brakes in the middle of traffic. As he used every ounce of will power he possessed, Jim braked carefully and when the truck stopped two inches from the bumper of the car ahead, he turned and looked at his partner.  
  
"Chief, you're scaring me here."  
  
Blair turned agonized eyes to Jim and explained, "I gotta _do_ something, Jim. I gotta _do_ something. I can't just sit here, you know? I'm -- I had to be -- and so calm -- like a real -- you know, professional? But I gotta **_DO_** something!"  
  
Nodding wisely, Jim said, "Uh-huh. Got it. Sure."  
  
The light went green and Jim, in complete understanding, reached under his seat, grabbed the light, stuck it on the roof and hit the siren. Then, instead of taking the left that would have led them to the airport, he took a right.  
  
At high speed, Jim guided the truck through the streets of Cascade, weaving in and out, siren blaring, light flashing. Five minutes later, he pulled up in front of 852 Prospect. By the time he was pulling the key from the ignition, Blair was bouncing on the curb and muttering, "Come _on_ , come on, Jim, hurry, man --"  
  
Jim hopped out, ran around to the sidewalk, and wasn't the least bit surprised when Blair grabbed his hand and began hauling him inside. They hurried to the elevator and when it opened, they practically jumped in. Blair ferociously punched '3' and they started up. As they passed the second floor, Blair reached out and hit _stop_. The elevator shuddered and froze. Blair didn't. He turned and started tearing at Jim's buttons.  
  
"Come _on_ , help me out here, Ellison. I'm gonna explode."  
  
Jim grinned, shook his head and, placing his hands firmly on his bouncing partner's shoulders, shoved him back against the wall. Before Blair could protest, Jim dropped to his knees, unhooked Blair's belt, undid the button, then pulled the zipper down on Blair's jeans.  
  
Faced with a pair of shorts that were having difficulty containing Blair's dick, he whistled in appreciation, then said, "I take it you're having trouble channeling your excitement at the recent turn of events, Chief?"  
  
With his hands on Jim's shoulders to brace himself, Blair nodded dumbly. "Uh-mm."  
  
"And maybe running," Jim pulled the plain white boxers down, "isn't going to cut it?"  
  
"Nuh-um."  
  
"And basketball," Jim swiped his tongue across the head, "is definitely out?"  
  
"Uh-hmm."  
  
"So we have to find a way to channel the explosive energy, right Chief?"  
  
"Uh-hmm."  
  
Running his hands up and down Blair's legs, Jim stared at the beautiful cock bouncing in front of him. He slid his hands around to Blair's ass and holding the tense cheeks, he brought Blair forward, kissed the inside of Blair's right thigh, then licked his way up, nuzzling the straining cock aside, then inhaling before going back for more.  
  
"Jimmm --"  
  
"Ssh, let me enjoy --"  
  
Blair dropped his head back against the wall of the elevator as Jim began to work his dick, and it was obvious the younger man was trying to control his breathing, but Jim could tell it was a losing battle. By the time Jim took him in completely, Blair was panting like a dog in heat, which Jim thought was totally appropriate.  
  
God, Jim loved Blair's dick, not to mention those sturdy slender legs trembling against his arms. And lord, the nest of springy pubic hair, the near-perfect balls, heavy now, but downy soft... Jim stroked Blair's ass as he sucked, then slid one finger inside and began to tease. Blair jerked hard, almost bouncing up and Jim had to hold on --  
  
He could feel Blair's hands as they moved up and stroked his hair. Then as Jim deep-throated him, Blair's hands gripped his head hard. He grinned in spite of the mouthful of Blair. He pushed his finger deep inside Blair's ass as he increased his throat contractions and it didn't take long for Blair to come, fucking Jim's mouth as Jim fucked Blair with his finger --

*****

  
  
Wiping his mouth and smiling up at his partner, Jim said smugly, "So, energy expended, Chief?"  
  
Blair let his body fall forward a bit, then sank to his knees in front of Jim. "Oh, yeah. You beat basketball, jogging, swimming, you name it, you beat it, Jim."  
  
As they stared at each other, Jim thought he'd never seen anyone as beautiful as Blair just after a mind-blowing orgasm. His expression was dazed, lips parted, skin flushed and eyes -- God, those eyes. Half-closed, glittering like dark shiny velvet and reflecting not only his complete satisfaction, but love as well. So much love.  
  
"How ya feelin', partner?" he teased tenderly.  
  
"We are, aren't we? For real. It's for real."  
  
Jim rested his hand against the side of Blair's face and nodded. "It's real. You and me. The way it should be. No long-distance relationship, no separate lives. Just the Sentinel and Shaman of the Great City."  
  
Blair smiled dreamily and touched Jim's forehead with his own. "Yeah. Yeah. And you're right, it is as it should be. We're okay apart, but we're so much better together. It's like me without my glasses, you know? The world is there, and I function within it, but once I put my glasses on, the world is beautiful."  
  
"Then you must be my glasses, Chief, cause without you, my senses worked but everything was so damn -- dull, muted. But once you were here, it was all I needed. I'm thinking that together -- we create a whole." Jim lifted his head away and kissed first Blair's left eye, then his right. "I need you so fucking much, Blair. So very fucking much."  
  
Blair placed his hand on Jim's dick and grinned. "Oh, yeah, you do."  
  
"Oh, well, for that too."  
  
This time it was Jim's zipper being lowered.

*****

  
  
"Not up, Jim. Down."  
  
"No, up. I have a few items to pack. You think I'm letting you go back to San Francisco alone? I have two weeks off. More if I need it."  
  
"I'm never gonna make my flight."  
  
"Sure you are. Just not the one o'clock. We'll just take a later one."  
  
"Cool."  
  
Jim smiled down at his mussed up partner while pushing '3'. When the doors slid open and they both stepped out, Jim paused, took a good whiff, then said happily, "Love that 'Eau De Parfume of Semen', Chief. Adds a little something to the elevator, don't you think?"  
  
"Something this elevator has long needed, Jim."  
  
"Oh, yeah."

*****

  
  
"So you were his --"  
  
"Babysitter? Guardian? Tagalong? Yep, that's me. Detective Bill Russell, at your service. Jeff to Doc Sandburg's Mutt. Bud Abbott to his Lou Costello and --"  
  
"Oliver Hardy to his Stan Laurel?" Jim suggested with a knowing smile.  
  
"You got it."  
  
Russell was perched on the edge of his desk, Jim standing before him, both men stuck in the squad room while Blair met with Captain Lyons. Bill Russell grinned at the man in front of him and added, "We forgot Detective Watson to his Doctor Holmes."  
  
Jim chuckled, scratched the back of his neck and offered, "Well, to be honest, with all that hair and all, I'm thinking --"  
  
"Let me guess -- Nick Charles to his Nora?"  
  
"More like -- Tarzan to his Cheeta."  
  
"Oh, yeah, that's it exactly," Russell said, laughing. As both men chuckled, Bill leaned forward and between bouts of laughter, asked, "Just tell me one thing, is his energy natural?"  
  
"Oh yeah. And inexhaustible. Wore you out, did he?"  
  
"Big time. I have two nephews, ages four and seven and I see them a couple of times a month. They've got nothing on him," Bill jerked his thumb in the direction of where Sandburg sat in Lyon's office, "and the Doc doesn't even need a nap."  
  
Jim's laughter burst forth again as he nodded sympathetically. "No, he doesn't -- but I'm betting you did."  
  
"Oh, definitely." Then he glanced at the closed door and said with a sigh, "We're gonna miss him, Detective."  
  
"But think of all the rest you'll get now," Jim suggested with a grin.  
  
"I don't think so. See," Russell turned to look back at Jim, his face flushed a dull red. "I -- well, his mother and I --"  
  
Jim's eyes popped wide as he said, almost choking, "Holy shit."

*****

  
  
"I knew it. I just knew it. Letting you go to Cascade was the biggest mistake of my life, Doctor."  
  
Blair sat in Captain Lyons office, his resignation sitting in front of the slightly irate captain. "I'm sorry, Captain. But, well, I started out with the Cascade Police Department and this is --"  
  
Lyons held up one hand. "I know, I know. I just can't believe those idiots finally wised up and made you a decent offer. I was so certain that it would be safe letting you go." He shrugged and added, "Live and learn."  
  
"Well, if it's any consolation, I am giving a month's notice, as required --"  
  
"No, you're not. Our commissioner has been on the phone with _your_ commissioner, and as a favor, well, we're releasing you effective immediately. I hate politics," Lyons finished with a smile.  
  
"I -- I don't know what to say. I had no idea."  
  
"Well, just before your arrival, I had a nice conversation with your new and I guess -- old -- captain, and he gave me a message. He said, and I quote, 'You and Ellison have three days. That's it. Three days'. Hardly enough time to get -- unsettled."  
  
"I'm really sorry, Sir."  
  
Lyons shook his head and grinned. "No you're not. But at least Banks gave us enough time to arrange a little going away party. We're set for tomorrow night, eight sharp at Dooley's. Now get out of here and don't even think about taking Russell with you, you hear me?"  
  
Laughing, Blair stood. "Sir, I'm pretty sure that Bill will be very glad to have a real cop assigned as his partner."  
  
"Doctor Sandburg -- you _are_ a real cop. And don't you forget it. Now get out of here."  
  
Blair stared at Captain Lyons, then nodded slowly. "Thank you, Sir. And -- it was an honor working with you."  
  
"The honor was ours, Doctor."

*****

  
  
Stunned, Blair closed the door to Captain Lyon's office behind him and walked a bit unsteadily toward where Jim stood with Bill.  
  
"So, this is it, Blair?" Bill asked.  
  
Looking up, Blair gave a small, almost sad shrug. "I'm afraid so. And it looks as though, well... Cascade asked if I could be released from any obligation of giving notice, and it was agreed. So --"  
  
"Yeah, I figured as much. Look, why don't I drive you two to your place, save you the cab fare since Naomi isn't --" Bill froze.  
  
Blair's eyes bugged out as he said, "Um, Bill? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"  
  
"Chief, why don't I go -- somewhere -- why you two --"  
  
But Blair was smiling broadly as he looked up at the suddenly very nervous Russell. "Well, Bill? Spit it out."  
  
"I -- we -- I mean, see --"  
  
Blair stepped back and let his expression settle into one of suspicion as he said, "What, you were waiting until I was out of the picture to move in on my mother?"  
  
Bill stood quickly. "No, no, Doc, it wasn't --"  
  
Jim nudged his partner and said, "Let him off the hook, Sandburg."  
  
"Aw, come on, Jim, let me have my fun. You were never any good for razzing, but Bill here? Man, he was always so gullible."  
  
Russell shot his soon-to-be ex-partner a withering look, then said, "Oh, he wasn't, eh? I distinctly remember several stories shared by you where Detective Ellison figured prominently in the razzing department."  
  
"Mm, Chief? Care to explain?"  
  
Blair, looking from one to the other finally held up one hand and said, "Obfuscate. Bill is a master at it. I disclaim all knowledge of --"  
  
"Save it, buddy. You're dead meat," Jim warned, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  
  
"Before you kill him, Detective..." Russell turned back to Sandburg and with some hesitation, asked, "So you're all right with -- things -- between your mother and myself?"  
  
"Like I could miss the sparks a couple of weeks ago at O'Brien's retirement party?"  
  
"So that's a yes, you're okay --"  
  
Blair smiled up at his ex-partner. "I'm very okay with it."  
  
Russell's own smile nearly blinded Ellison and Sandburg as he said, "Well, come on then, let me take you two to Blair's place. You'll need all the rest you can get before the party tomorrow."

*****

  
  
The drive to Blair's home was an exercise in the hills of San Francisco. Jim was flabbergasted as they took one great hill after another before Russell finally parked in front of an old Victorian building. He set the brake and glanced in the rear-view mirror at Jim. "The doc lives on the third floor. All stairs. Two flights up to the _first_ floor. Wouldn't you think that by the time he went down to the street, he'd be exhausted?"  
  
"More like catching his second wind," Jim quipped.  
  
"Um, guys? _He_ is sitting right here," Blair pointed out as he jabbed himself in the chest. "And you old geezers are just jealous. Watch this --" With that, he grabbed his bag _and_ Jim's, then hopped out of the car and, after sticking out his tongue at the two _older_ men, he started jogging up the stairs.  
  
"I really hate him, you know, Ellison?"  
  
"Let's use that hate right now and beat the crap out of him -- as in beat him up those fucking stairs," Jim suggested, an evil gleam in his eyes.  
  
"Hey, I've got almost twenty years on him and almost ten on you, but damn, I'm game if you are, _old_ man."  
  
Laughing, the two men quickly climbed out of Russell's Taurus and taking deep breaths, took off after Sandburg.  
  
They never passed him. But they did get close enough to hear him. "Try to beat me, will ya? I don't think so. I could beat you two seniors with my hands tied behind my back and three more pieces of luggage strapped to my head."  
  
By the time the two detectives made it to Blair's front door, huffing and puffing, faces red from exertion, Blair was standing, smiling, and holding out two beers.  
  
"Here, have something cold to drink. And you both realize that even mom could have beaten you two?"  
  
Hands on knees, trying desperately to catch his breath, Jim glanced up and said, "I -- really -- hate -- you -- Sandburg."  
  
Russell, in the same position, said in a breathy voice, "Ditto."  
  
Blair just snorted.

*****

  
  
Naomi Sandburg opened the door to her son's apartment and, shoving it wide, juggled the groceries in her arms and stepped inside, only to have all four bags removed while at the same time, someone kissed her cheek.  
  
"Hey, mom. Guess who's home?"  
  
Blowing hair out of her eyes, she grinned and hauled Blair into her arms. "Honey, why didn't you call? I could have picked you up. And I'm mad at you, not one call and did you solve the case? Did you stop him? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you did, didn't I just see it on the news?"  
  
"Mom?"  
  
Naomi pulled away and looked at her son. "Why, sweetie, you look -- wonderful!" Then she must have realized that since Blair didn't have the groceries, and _she_ no longer had them, somebody else had to have them.  
  
"Um, Blair? Sweetie? Where are -- where did you put -- how did you --"  
  
"Hi, Naomi."  
  
"Hi, Naomi."  
  
She glanced over her son's head to find Jim Ellison and Bill Russell smiling at her. Both had their arms full of groceries. She looked at Bill, at the warmth in his eyes as he grinned at her, then over at Jim, with a brighter warmth as he gazed at her son and she stepped back.  
  
"My, aren't we the odd foursome," she said cheekily.

*****

  
  
The meal was over, the dishes history. Four people sat comfortably around the coffee table in Blair's apartment. It was his and Jim's last night in San Francisco. Boxes had already been packed and shipped to 852 Prospect earlier in the day, and two evenings previously, the San Francisco Special Crimes Unit had said goodbye to their civilian 'Doctor Cop' at Dooley's.  
  
Blair and Jim had spent two days seeing the city by the bay, enjoying China Town and a tour of The Presidio, which had been an eye-opener for Blair. Jim had actually been stationed there for two weeks while in the Rangers. They'd even done the tour of Alcatraz, and managed to find more than a few dark corners in which to grope like the two horny men that they were.  
  
But the one thing that hadn't occurred in the three days was time alone with his mother.  
  
A few decisions had been made, like the fact that Blair was signing over ownership of his apartment to Naomi, who would remain in San Francisco, but they hadn't really talked. And now -- their time had run out. He and Jim would be leaving early the next morning on an eight o'clock flight back to Cascade. As Blair sat next to Jim, drawing warmth from his closeness, he thought it was par for the course for him and his mother.  
  
Bill Russell sat next to Naomi, her feet in his lap and he wasn't the least bit uncomfortable even though Blair was seated across from him. Of course, at the moment, he was getting some serious vibes from his ex-partner and he was pretty sure he knew their origin. So sure in fact, that he gently lifted Naomi's legs, stood, laid them back down and said, "Hey, Jim, how 'bout a walk?"  
  
Jim, while content to remain right where he was, also recognized certain vibes, and had been about to suggest something similar. Nodding, he stood, stretched and said, "Sounds good. Walk off some of that steak, maybe set a new record running back up the stairs?"  
  
Blair, knowing exactly what was going on, grinned up at the two men. "I know just the record you mean, too, Jim. And I'm here to tell you that with practice, you and Bill can slam-dunk old man Rogers' one hour record of getting from the street to the third floor. You two go for it!"  
  
Sitting up, Naomi giggled and said, "How old is Rogers again, Blair?"  
  
"Seventy-eight, Mom."  
  
"Oh, well, then. I'm certain these two can break his record." Then she looked up at them and smiled winningly. "Go, give it another try. We'll be here when you get back."  
  
Jim rolled his eyes and muttering something about 'like mother, like son', he and Bill left.  
  
When the door closed, Blair said, "So."  
  
Naomi got up, walked over to the other couch and sat down next to her son. "So," she responded with a smile. "I'm guessing that both our guys figured we needed some time to talk."  
  
"Think so?"  
  
"Think so. You're worried about Bill and me, aren't you?"  
  
"Well, I'm worried about Bill, yes. He's not like the others, Mom. He's not in this for fun, he loves you."  
  
Naomi's eyes clouded over at her son's words. "Blair, I love Bill."  
  
"Didn't you love them all? For a little while anyway? But it was still more 'fun' than anything else, and your need to move on outweighed any affection you might have had for any of them. But you leave Bill in the lurch and you'll be hurting him, big time."  
  
Naomi's expression showed clearly how hurt she was by Blair's words. "Honey, how can you think that --"  
  
"It's what you do, Mom. All I'm saying is that this time... well, you've got a man who _really_ loves you."  
  
Naomi rose and walked to the bay window, hugging herself as she stopped to gaze out over the bay. "I never realized how you felt -- I'm not sure how to deal with this, Blair."  
  
"Mom, we're not talking about me, okay? I just -- think -- that if this is going to go the way of the others, it would be better if it went that way now instead of later. It'll hurt less."  
  
Maybe it was the manner in which Blair said, _'it'll hurt less'_ that got through to Naomi, but whatever it was, she turned, surprise written all over her face. "Hurt who, Blair? Me? Bill? Or -- you?"  
  
Blair bent his head, then after knuckling back some hair, he said, "Bill."  
  
"Not you?"  
  
"It would be -- difficult -- for Bill, to maintain any -- type -- of friendship if you -- if you took off. But like I said, he's different than the others."  
  
"The others," Naomi repeated, her voice hollow. "The others," she said again. "God, what must you think of me, Blair?"  
  
Blair's head shot up and looking concerned, he jumped up and hurried to her side. "Mom, I don't think anything. You're my mother. I love you. I understand your need to keep moving, to see as much of the world as you can. I get that. Hell, you're unique. One of a kind," he added with a tender smile.  
  
"One of a kind? The kind who can't stick around? The kind that can't sustain a relationship, even with her own son?" she said bitterly.  
  
Blair stepped back. "Mom, I repeat, we're not talking about me. We're talking about Bill."  
  
"But we _should_ be talking about you. You said it all in the car on the way to the airport. You needed me and I wasn't there for you. And every time a new man came into our lives, you thought you had a father, didn't you? Only I'd pack us up, or he'd leave, and then --"  
  
"Mom, cut it out. This is about _Bill_."  
  
"About Bill, and Jim and you, and everyone leaving --"  
  
"You know, maybe I'll go for a walk myself. Forget I said anything. I had no right anyway."  
  
Blair turned away, took his jacket from the peg in the hall and, before his mother could blink, he was gone.

*****

  
  
Jim cocked his head, then stopped. "Bill, why don't you head back? I think -- Naomi might need you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Trust me."  
  
Puzzled, Bill said, "O-kay, but what about you?"  
  
"I'll stay here -- Blair's on his way."  
  
"All right." Russell turned and headed back to Blair's building. As he rounded the corner he spotted Sandburg -- heading in the opposite direction. He almost called out, but Jim's voice stopped him.  
  
"I'll take care of Sandburg junior, you take care of Sandburg senior."  
  
"Right. On my way."  
  
As Bill started up the steps, Jim hurried after his upset partner. He caught him at the next corner. "Sandburg, hold up. Old man bringing up the rear here."  
  
"Cut it out, Jim. You know damn well you could beat me up those stairs on a bad day."  
  
"Ooh, what bug crawled up your ass and is her name Naomi?"  
  
"That wasn't funny, man."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Where's Bill?"  
  
"I sent him upstairs to console your mother."  
  
Blair, who'd been refusing to look at the older man, suddenly whirled to face him. "Tell me you weren't listening?"  
  
"Of course not. But I _did_ hear you leave and your rather -- strident footsteps -- on the stairs."  
  
"Strident?"  
  
"Mm, yeah, strident, as in, 'boy, I blew it again' strident."  
  
"We start schtupping and suddenly you're an expert in my 'strident' footsteps?"  
  
"Schtupping? _Schtupping_? And I've always been an expert in your footsteps. I know the pounce of, 'I got the grant!', the famous, 'I finished every single blue book!', the heavy footsteps of, 'God damn it, it's raining _again_ ', and then there's the one I hated, the pounding up the stairs that said, 'Man, oh, man, did I get lucky last night or what?'.  
  
"There was my all-time favorite, the 'Thank you, God, I'm almost home and I just _know_ Jim will have put on the tea', footsteps. Yeah, Sandburg, I know your footsteps. Inside and out. And I know that right now, you've decided that you crossed the line and you're hating yourself for it."  
  
"Why do I always do that, Jim?"  
  
"Have you _ever_ done it with your mother before?"  
  
"Well -- no. But I have with you and Simon and every other God damned person I know."  
  
"You've never crossed the line with me, Chief. Never. And you didn't with Naomi either."  
  
"Bullshit. I said things I had no right to say. And you know, if you went back right now, I'd feel a whole lot better. I'd really like to be by myself."  
  
Jim cupped the back of Blair's neck with his hand, his finger rubbing the indentation between the muscles. "You might feel better, but I'd feel shitty. You don't really want to be by yourself at all. Besides, a son can say anything to his mother."  
  
"You're not gonna let me stay angry with myself, are you?"  
  
Jim brought the younger man forward and wrapped his other arm around Blair's waist.  
  
"No, I'm not. It's a waste of energy that I'm pretty sure I could put to better use."  
  
"Yeah? Well, it's gonna have to wait 'til later tonight, cowboy. Unless you have a death wish and want to try a little --"  
  
"Schtupping --"  
  
"-- in my VW."  
  
"Is that a challenge?"  
  
"As if. You have the flexibility of a tire iron."  
  
Jim's left eyebrow arched. "I do all right in dark corners of closed prisons that would only handle a hobbit. Like you."  
  
Blair made a show of checking his pockets for his keys and when he found them, he dangled them in front of Jim's face. "Well, come on then, let's give the old back seat a try-out. And you know," he said, as he tugged at Jim's belt, "lots of people thought Frodo and Sam belonged together, but not me. Oh, no. I say -- Frodo and Aragorn."  
  
"Well, then, lead on, Frodo."

*****

  
  
Bill let himself into the quiet apartment. He walked into the living room and wasn't surprised to find Naomi on the balcony. He picked up her jacket and, as he joined her, he slipped it over her shoulders. Naomi's hands came up and rested over his as she leaned back into him.  
  
"I really blew it, Bill."  
  
"I find that hard to believe. Not you, not Wonder Woman Naomi," he said with a smile.  
  
"Boy, have I got you fooled."  
  
"Not likely."  
  
Naomi turned in his arms and gazed up into the strong face she'd come to love so dearly. "My son thinks -- and I think maybe he's right, Bill. I've never been able to stay in one place very long, and God, I don't ever want to hurt you or lose you and you don't know what I've done to my son --"  
  
Bill touched his lips to Naomi's, stopping the flood of words. "You're not going to lose me, and if you get an attack of wanderlust, well, damn, I'll just go with you. And as for Blair -- hell, Naomi, he's incredible. You did wonderful by him."  
  
"No, I didn't. I left him. So many times, Bill. And there were men --" her voice broke, then she took a deep breath and continued. "Men he thought of as his father, but they -- and then we'd leave -- and how many of them did he love? Oh, he makes light of it now, but God, how could I not have seen the truth? I'm his mother, for God's sake!"  
  
Bill tilted Naomi's head up with a finger on her chin. "Naomi, what do you want?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, what do you want out of life now? If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?"  
  
For a moment, Naomi struggled with the question, but then her face cleared and she smiled in the dark. "I want you in my life, I want Blair in my life, I want what I have right now."  
  
"So tell him that, Naomi."  
  
"God, I love you."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a big lovable guy."  
  
"I just can't believe I finally fall in love for real and he turns out to be a cop."  
  
Unable to resist, Bill grinned and said, "Like son, like mother."  
  
Mouth dropping open, Naomi stepped back. "Bill?"  
  
"Please, I'm a detective. I rode with the guy for months. And all anyone has to do is look at the two of them."  
  
"Holy shit."

*****

  
  
They sat in the back seat, bodies touching. The fog had started rolling in and Blair could barely see beyond the garage opening. He rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Next to him, Jim shifted slightly and said, a smile in his voice, "I can barely sit back here, let alone try anything more athletic or acrobatic."  
  
"Like a tire iron, Jim."  
  
"Umph."  
  
Silence fell between them, but it was an easy silence. Jim slipped his hand into Blair's.  
  
"So many changes, Jim," Blair finally said.  
  
"Good changes, though."  
  
Blair fingered the necklace given to him by Petak. "Yeah, good changes." He'd have to tell Jim about his trip one of these days.  
  
"You know she loves you, Blair. More than anything. You know that."  
  
"Yeah, I do."  
  
"And you know that I love you, more than anything."  
  
"Yeah, I do."  
  
Jim twisted a bit so that he could see Blair. "Do you, Blair? Do you really?"  
  
Running a finger down the side of Jim's face, Blair said, "What about you, Jim? Do you believe that I love you? That I'll never leave?"  
  
"I've never believed anything more."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Jim leaned in close, his nose almost touching Blair's. "Well? What about you?"  
  
"You love me big time."  
  
"And?"  
  
"You'll never -- hang up."  
  
"But you thought I would, if we tried the long-distance relationship, didn't you?"  
  
"Maybe a little."  
  
"Liar. Try a lot."  
  
"Maybe -- a lot."  
  
"I'm going to enjoy spending the next forty years _not_ hanging up on you, Chief."  
  
"Wait, I'll only be seventy. That's not good enough, Jim. I want fifty years."  
  
"You drive a hard bargain. Okay, _fifty_ years."  
  
"Good. And I'm holding you to it."  
  
"Why don't you just hold me instead?"  
  
"I can do that."

*****

  
  
"Mom?"  
  
Naomi turned around to face her son. Blair and Jim had come in a few minutes earlier, and Bill had immediately taken the clue offered by Jim, and the two detectives had excused themselves with the pretext of making coffee.  
  
Once they'd disappeared into the kitchen, Blair had joined his mother on the balcony.  
  
"Mom, I'm sorry. I had no right --"  
  
"Yes you did. I wish we could start over, Blair. I wish you were four years old again and I could have a second chance. Because it would be different."  
  
"No, it wouldn't," Blair said gently. "And that's okay. Whatever drove you, well, it made us both who we are, and that ain't bad."  
  
"No, it isn't. But I missed so much --"  
  
"And you saw so much."  
  
"I love Bill, honey. I do. So much, it hurts. I can't stand to be away from him. I think -- you're finally going to have a father."  
  
Blair gazed at her, saw the truth of her words, and the emotion in her eyes. He felt a moisture behind his own as he wondered why she'd never felt that way about him, but then he shook it off and took his mother into his arms. "Just be happy, Mom," he whispered into her hair. "Just be happy."

*****

  
  
"Okay, so you have everything?"  
  
Blair rolled his eyes. "Yes, _Mom_ , I have everything."  
  
Jim swatted the back of his head. "Don't talk to your mother like that."  
  
"Jim, do you have the tickets?"  
  
"Yes, _Mom_. I have the tickets."  
  
Blair smacked the back of Jim's head. "Don't talk like that to your mother-in-law like that."  
  
"Okay, children. Behave."  
  
"Yes, Mom," Jim and Blair said in complete unison. Naomi beamed. Bill Russell scowled.  
  
"No way am I Dad to _him_ ," Bill said, pointing to Jim.  
  
"No kidding," Jim quipped. "The best you can hope for is father-in-law."  
  
Bill moaned.  
  
Shaking her head, Naomi said, "So, we'll see you in two weeks when we bring the VW, right?"  
  
"Right, Mom. Two weeks."  
  
Naomi leaned in and kissed Blair, then reached up and kissed Jim, then said, "Two weeks."  
  
Jim shook hands with Russell, who then, a bit awkwardly, hugged Blair. He and Naomi stepped back and waved as Jim and Blair took their leave and headed for the escalators. Naomi watched her son until she couldn't see him any more.  
  
"Come on, honey, let's go. We'll see them in --"  
  
"I know. In two weeks."  
  
Putting his arm around her, he guided her out of the airport. As they hit the street and headed for the car, Naomi said innocently, "Bill, honey, have you ever considered Cascade? Major Crime could use a good detective like you --"  
  
Coming to a complete stop, Bill looked down at Naomi and said the only thing that came to mind. "Holy shit."

*****

  
  
Luggage in hand, Jim and Blair walked down the ramp and into the airport. They were home.  
  
As they stepped out into the crowd of family awaiting loved ones, a voice yelled out, "ELLISON! SANDBURG!"  
  
Both men turned to see Simon bearing down on them, a huge grin on his face.  
  
"Hey, Simon, you didn't have to pick us up, we were all set to catch the shuttle."  
  
"I know, I know. But I wanted to, Jim. Had to make sure you both arrived safely, no criminals intervening, that kind of thing. You have everything? Do we need to go down to claims?"  
  
Blair shook his head. "Nah, we've got it all."  
  
"Great, great. Let's go then."  
  
Hiking up their bags, they followed Simon as he cut a huge swath in the crowd. They took the escalator to ground level, then out. At the curb sat a stretch limo and Simon surprised both men by walking up to the Lincoln and opening the door.  
  
"Well? Get in, guys."  
  
Jim looked at Blair, who stared right back.  
  
"Hurry up, I haven't got all day."  
  
When neither moved, Simon rolled his eyes, then grabbed one of the bags and tossed it in, saying, "H, catch this."  
  
Blair leaned forward. "H?"  
  
Henri Brown poked his head out. "Hairboy, would you get your ass in here? You too, Ellison."  
  
"Yeah," Megan yelled from inside, "Get your cute asses in here, and double time!"  
  
Then Joel poked his head out, followed by Rafe. "Come on," Rafe said impatiently. "We have food, we have drink, and we're paying by the hour. Get it in gear."  
  
Jim grinned. "After you, Sandburg."  
  
"No, after you."  
  
"I don't give a rat's ass who gets in first, just MOVE IT, DETECTIVES!" Simon boomed out.  
  
Blair dove in, followed by Jim. With a satisfied smile, Simon crawled in after them and shut the door.  
  
Inside the opulent vehicle, Jim and Blair settled in and, as champagne was passed around, Simon looked at his best team and said, "Glad to have you guys back."  
  
Nodding in agreement, everyone clinked glasses, then took careful sips as the limo driver pulled away from the curb. A platter of sandwiches passed from one detective to another and, as everyone helped themselves, Simon harrumphed a bit, trying to get their attention.  
  
When all eyes were on him, he said, "Blair, as you know, I had to decide which detective to assign you to, now that you're officially on the payroll and all --"  
  
"Hear, hear," Joel said with a broad smile.  
  
"-- and making more than the rest of us combined," Rafe added wickedly.  
  
"Yeah, and he has his own office, too," Conner added."  
  
"But he has to share it with his baby-sitter, guys," Henri reminded them.  
  
"Oh, right. One office, two desks. Two phones. Two file cabinets --"  
  
"Two computers," Rafe picked up for Conner.  
  
"Two coffee mugs," Joel added.  
  
"Two plants for Jim to kill," Henri threw in.  
  
"Aw, Brown, you ruined it. Simon wanted to be the one to tell them," Conner said, her hand patting Simon's arm.  
  
Jim gulped and said, "Blair, San Francisco is looking pretty good right now."  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Sounds like you finally have your own office. Nobody can touch your 'stuff' anymore," Blair offered helpfully.  
  
"Oh, yeah. I like the sound of that."  
  
"Yes," Simon interrupted, "As I was saying, I had to decide which detective to assign and after much thought --"  
  
"You guys have a view though," Conner pointed out.  
  
"Yeah," Rafe added, "Your office overlooks the city dump."  
  
"-- as I was saying, Jim, Blair. I had to decide --"  
  
"Oh, go on with you, Rafe. Don't you two believe him. Your office overlooks Wilmington. A really great vie--"  
  
"Yeah," Henri jumped in, "Your window looks right into this woman's apartment, her bedroom, to be exact, and she never --"  
  
Joel poked Henri in the ribs. "I don't think they'll be looking, Brown."  
  
"Oh, yeah, right."  
  
"As I was saying, _gentlemen_?" Simon tried again.  
  
The noise went on and Jim smiled down at his official partner and office-mate.  
  
"Welcome home, Chief. Welcome home."  
  
The End

 

Disclaimer: Who in their right mind would *want* to disclaim Jim and Blair? Not me. I acknowledge them as the greatest romantic couple of all time. Better than Cleo and Tony, better than Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, peanut butter and jelly, ham and cheese, Heckle and Jeckle, Popeye and Olive Oyl, you name it, Jim and Blair are better. No way do I plan on disclaiming them. In fact, in the name of fan writers and readers everywhere, I, ALYJUDE, DO HEREBY CLAIM THEM. so there.


End file.
